UCASSIN 
(^NICOLETE 


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AUCASSIN 
NICOLETE 


Note. — The  present  edition  is  a  direct 
reprint  of  that  very  scarce  little  volume  : 
Aucassin  6*  U^icolete  'Done  into  English 
by  (Andrew  Lang,  London  :  i88j.  Pub- 
lished by  "David  Nutt  in  the  Strand. 
(Fcap  8vo.  Pp.  XX  :  70.)  :  dedicated  by 
its  translator  to  the  Hon.  James  Russell 
Lowell.  The  translation  was  made  in 
June,  and  the  book  printed  at  the  Chis- 
wick  Press,  in  November,  1887. 

The  original  etched  title-page,  (with 
a  curious  error  in  its  date,)  and  three 
woodcut  designs,  by  Jacomb  Hood,  are 
also  reproduced  in  this  Old  World 
Edition. 

But  550  copies,  (500  only  for  sale)  were 
issued  on  Japan  Vellum,  in  wrappers, 
also  60  large  paper  copies. 

Prices  at  recent  book  sales  for  small 
paper  copies  have  been  from  four  to  five 
guineas. 


ET    DEJsIiCOLETE 


.ONDIN  I 


MDCXKXVI 


AUCASSIN  B 
NICOLETE 

DONE  INTO  ENGLISH  BY 
ANDREW  LANG 


Portland,  Maine 
THCKM/JS  tB.  tMOSHEI^ 

lAdcccci 


This  Fifth  Edition  on 
yan  Gelder  paper  con- 
sists of  92^  copies. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction xi 

Ballade  of  Aucassin     .        .        .      xxi 

Ballade  of  Nicolete     .        .        .    xxiii 

The  Song-Story  of  Aucassin  and 

Nicolete     3 

Notes 59 

Appendix 65 


^^ 


INTRODUCTION 


INTRODUCTION 

THERE  is  nothing  in  artistic  poetry  quite 
akin  to  "  Aucassin  and  Nicolete." 
By  a  rare  piece  of  good  fortune  the  one 
manuscript  of  the  Song-Story  has  escaped 
those  waves  of  time,  which  have  wrecked 
the  bark  of  Menander,  and  left  of  Sappho 
but  a  few  floating  fragments.  The  very 
form  of  the  tale  is  peculiar  ;  we  have 
nothing  else  from  the  twelfth  or  thirteenth 
century  in  the  alternate  prose  and  verse 
of  the  cante-fable.^  We  have  fabUaux  in 
verse,  and  prose  Arthurian  romances.  We 
have  Chansons  de  Geste,  heroic  poems  like 
**  Roland,"  unrhymed  assonant  laisses,  but 
we  have  not  the  alternations  of  prose  with 
laisses  in  seven-syllabled  lines.      It   cannot 


I  Gaston  Paris,  in  M.  Bida's  edition,  p.  xii.  Paris, 
1878.  The  blending  is  not  unknown  in  various  coun- 
tries.   See  note  at  end  of  Translation. 


INTRODUCTION 

be  certainly  known  whether  the  form  of 
"Aucassin  and  Nicolete"  was  a  familiar 
form  —  used  by  many  jogleors,  or  wandering 
minstrels  and  story-tellers  such  as  Nicolete, 
in  the  tale,  feigned  herself  to  be,  —  or 
whether  this  is  a  solitary  experiment  by 
"  the  old  captive  "  its  author,  a  contem- 
porary, as  M.  Gaston  Paris  thinks  him,  of 
Louis  VII.  (II 30).  He  was  original  enough 
to  have  invented,  or  adopted  from  popular 
tradition,  a  form  for  himself  ;  his  originality 
declares  itself  everj' where  in  his  one  sur- 
viving masterpiece.  True,  he  uses  certain 
traditional  formulae,  that  have  survived  in 
his  time,  as  they  survived  in  Homer's, 
from  the  manner  of  purely  popular  poetry, 
of  VoJksUeder.  Thus  he  repeats  snatches  of 
conversation  always  in  the  same,  or  very 
nearly  the  same  words.  He  has  a  stereo- 
typed form,  like  Homer,  for  saying  that  one 
person  addressed  another,  "ains  traist  au 
visconte  de  la  vile  si  I'apela"  —  rbv  dairafxei- 
^6fi€Pos  irpoaecpi]  ....  Like  Homer, 
and  like  popular  song,  he  deals  in  recurrent 
epithets,  and  changeless  courtesies.  To 
Aucassin  the  hideous  plough-man  is  "Biax 
frère,"  "  fair  brother,"  just  as  the  treach- 
erous Aegisthus  is  àfx^ixwv  in  Homer  j  these 
are  complimentary  terms,  with  no  moral 
sense  in  particular.    The  jogleor  is  not  more 


INTRODUCTION 

curious  than  Homer,  or  than  the  poets  of 
the  old  ballads,  about  giving  novel  descrip- 
tions of  his  characters.  As  Homer's  ladies 
are  "  fair-tressed,"  so  Nicolete  and  Aucassin 
have,  each  of  them,  close  yellow  curls,  eyes 
of  vair  (whatever  that  may  mean),  and  red 
lips.  War  cannot  be  mentioned  except  as 
war  "where  knights  do  smite  and  are 
smitten,"  and  so  forth.  The  author  is 
absolutely  conventional  in  such  matters, 
according  to  the  convention  of  his  age  and 
profession. 

Nor  is  his  matter  more  original.  He 
tells  a  story  of  thwarted  and  finally  fortu- 
nate love,  and  his  hero  is  "  a  Christened 
knight  "  —  like  Tamlane,  —  his  heroine  a 
Paynim  lady.  To  be  sure,  Nicolete  was 
baptized  before  the  tale  begins,  and  it  is 
she  who  is  a  captive  among  Christians,  not 
her  lover,  as  usual,  who  is  a  captive  among 
Saracens.  The  author  has  reversed  the 
common  arrangement,  and  he  appears  to 
have  cared  little  more  than  his  reckless 
hero,  about  creeds  and  differences  of  faith. 
He  is  not  much  interested  in  the  recognition 
of  Nicolete  by  her  great  Payn'm  kindred, 
nor  indeed  in  any  of  the  "business"  of  the 
narrative,  the  fighting,  the  storms  and  tem- 
pests, and  the  burlesque  of  the  kingdom  of 
Torelore. 


INTRODUCTION 

What  the  nameless  author  does  care  for, 
is  his  telling  of  the  love-story,  the  passion 
of  Aucassin  and  Nicolete.  His  originality 
lies  in  his  charming  medley  of  sentiment 
and  humour,  of  a  smiling  compassion  and 
sympathy  with  a  touch  of  mocking  mirth. 
The  love  of  Aucassin  and  Nicolete  — 
*'  Des  grans  paines  qu'il  soufri^ 
that  is  the  one  thing  serious  to  him  in 
the  whole  matter,  and  that  is  not  so  very 
serious.i  The  story-teller  is  no  Mimnermus, 
-Love  and  Youth  are  the  best  things  he 
knew, —  "deport  du  viel  caitif,"  —  and  now 
he  has  "come  to  forty  years,"  and  now  they 
are  with  him  no  longer.  But  he  does  not 
lament  like  Mimnermus,  like  Alcman,  like 
Llwyarch  Hen.  "What  is  Life,  what  is 
delight  without  golden  Aphrodite?  May  I 
die!"  says  Mimnermus,  "when  I  am  no 
more  conversant  with  these,  with  secret  love, 
and  gracious  gifts,  and  the  bed  of  desire." 
And  Alcman,  when  his  limbs  waver  beneath 
him,  is  only  saddened  by  the  faces  and 
voices  of  girls,  and  would  change  his  lot  for 
the  sea-bird's.2 

"  Maidens  •oith  voices  like  bonejy  for  sweetness 
that  breathe  desire, 

1  I   know  not  if  I  unconsciously   transferred   this 
criticism  from  M.  Gaston  Paris. 

2  Love  in  Idleness.    London,  1883,  p.  169. 


INTRODUCTION 

IVould  that  I  were  a  sea-bird  with  limbs  that 

could  never  tire, 
Over  the  foam-flowers  flying  with  halcyons 

ever  on  wing, 
Keeping  a  careless  heart,  a  sea-blue  bird  of 

the  spring.^' 

But  our  old  captive,  having  said  farewell 
to  love,  has  yet  a  kindly  smiling  interest  in 
its  fever  and  folly.  Nothing  better  has  he 
met,  even  now  that  he  knows  "  a  lad  is  an 
ass."  He  tells  a  love  story,  a  story  of  love 
overmastering,  without  conscience  or  care  of 
aught  but  the  beloved.  And  the  viel  caitif 
tells  it  with  sympathy,  and  with  a  smile. 
"Oh  folly  of  fondness,"  he  seems  to  cry, 
"  oh  merry  days  of  desolation  "  : 
"  When  I  was  jyoung  as  you  are  young, 
When  lutes  were  touched,  and  songs  were  sung. 
And  love  lamps  in  the  windows  htmg^ 

It  is  the  very  tone  of  Thackeray,  when 
Thackeray  is  tender,  and  the  world  heard 
it  first  from  this  elderly,  nameless  minstrel, 
strolling  with  his  viol  and  his  singing  boys, 
perhaps,  like  a  blameless  d'Assoucy,  from 
castle  to  castle  in  •'  the  happy  poplar  land." 
One  seems  to  see  him  and  hear  him  in  the 
twilight,  in  the  court  of  some  château  of 
Picardy,  while  the  ladies  on  silken  cushions 
sit  around  him  listening,  and  their  lovers. 


XV 


INTRODUCTION 

fettered  with  silver  chains,  lie  at  their  feet. 
They  listen,  and  look,  and  do  not  think  of 
the  minstrel  with  his  grey  head  and  his 
green  heart,  but  we  think  of  him.  It  is  an 
old  man's  work,  and  a  weary  man's  work. 
You  can  easily  tell  the  places  where  he 
has  lingered,  and  been  pleased  as  he  wrote. 
They  are  marked,  like  the  bower  Nicolete 
built,  with  flowers  and  broken  branches  wet 
with  dew.  Such  a  passage  is  the  description 
of  Nicolete  at  her  window,  in  the  strangely 
painted  chamber, 

"  ki  faite  est  par  grant  dévisse 
panturee  a  miramieP 

Thence 

"  she  saw  the  roses  blow, 
Heard  the  birds  sing  loud  and  low." 

Again,  the  minstrel  speaks  out  what  many 
must  have  thought,  in  those  incredulous 
ages  of  Faith,  about  Heaven  and  Hell,  Hell 
where  the  gallant  company  makes  up  for 
everything.  When  he  comes  to  a  br.ttle- 
piece  he  makes  Aucassin  '*  mightily  and 
knightly  hurl  through  the  press,"  like  one  of 
Malory's  men.  His  hero  must  be  a  man  of 
his  hands,  no  mere  sighing  youth  incapable 
of  arms.  But  the  minstrel's  heart  is  in 
other   things,    for    example,   in    the   verses 


INTRODUCTION 

where  Aucassin  transfers  to  Beauty  the 
wonder-working  powers  of  Holiness,  and 
makes  the  sight  of  his  lady  heal  the  palmer, 
as  the  shadow  of  the  Apostle,  falling  on 
the  sick  people,  healed  them  by  the  Gate 
Beautiful.  The  Flight  of  Nicolete  is  a 
familiar  and  beautiful  picture,  the  daisy 
flowers  look  black  in  the  ivory  moonlight 
against  her  feet,  fair  as  Bombyca's  "feet  of 
carven  ivory"  in  the  Sicilian  idyll,  long  ago.» 
It  is  characteristic  of  the  poet  that  the  two 
lovers  begin  to  wrangle  about  which  loves 
best,  in  the  very  mouth  of  danger,  while 
Aucassin  is  yet  in  prison,  and  the  patrol 
go  down  the  moonlit  street,  with  swords  in 
their  hands,  sworn  to  slay  Nicolete.  That 
is  the  place  and  time  chosen  for  this  ancient 
controversy.  Aucassin's  threat  that  if  he 
loses  Nicolete  he  will  not  wait  for  sword  or 
knife,  but  will  dash  his  head  against  a  wall, 
is  in  the  very  temper  of  the  prisoned  warrior- 
poet,  who  actually  chose  this  way  of  death. 
Then  the  night  scene,  with  its  fantasy,  and 
shadow,  and  moonlight  on  flowers  and  street, 
yields  to  a  picture  of  the  day,  with  the  birds 
singing,  and  the  shepherds  laughing,  in  the 
green  links  between  wood  and  water.  There 
the  shepherds  take  Nicolete  for  a  fairy,  so 
bright   a  beauty  shines  about  her.     Their 

I    Theocritus  x.  37. 


INTRODUCTION 

mockery,  their  independence,  may  make  us 
consider  again  our  ideas  of  early  Feudalism. 
Probably  they  were  in  the  service  of  towns- 
men, whose  good  town  treated  the  Count 
as  no  more  than  an  equal  of  its  corporate 
dignity.  The  bower  of  branches  built  by 
Nicolete  is  certainly  one  of  the  places  where 
the  minstrel  himself  has  rested  and  been 
pleased  with  his  work.  One  can  feel  it  still, 
the  cool  of  that  clear  summer  night,  the 
sweet  smell  of  broken  boughs,  and  trodden 
grass,  and  deep  dew,  and  the  shining  of  the 
star  that  Aucassin  deemed  was  the  translated 
spirit  of  his  lady.  Romance  has  touched  the 
book  here  with  her  magic,  as  she  has  touched 
the  lines  where  we  read  how  Consuelo  came 
by  moonlight  to  the  Canon's  garden  and  the 
white  flowers.  The  pleasure  here  is  the 
keener  for  contrast  with  the  luckless  hind 
whom  Aucassin  encountered  in  the  forest  : 
the  man  who  had  lost  his  master's  ox,  the 
ungainly  man  who  wept,  because  his  mother's 
bed  had  been  taken  from  under  her  to  pay 
his  debt.  This  man  was  in  that  estate 
which  Achillis,  in  Hades,  preferred  above 
the  kingship  of  the  dead  outworn.  He  was 
hind  and  hireling  to  a  villein, 

àvdpi  Trap  àKKijpii.. 
It  is  an  unexpected   touch  of  pity  for  the 

xviii 


INTRODUCTION 

people,  and  for  other  than  love-sorrows,  in 
a  poera  intended  for  the  great  and  courtly 
people  of  chivalry. 

At  last  the  lovers  meet,  in  the  lodge  of 
flowers  beneath  the  stars.  Here  the  story 
should  end,  though  one  could  ill  spare  the 
pretty  lecture  the  girl  reads  her  lover  as 
they  ride  at  adventure,  and  the  picture  of 
Nicolete,  with  her  brown  stain,  and  jogleor's 
attire,  and  her  viol,  playing  before  Aucassin 
in  his  own  castle  of  Biaucaire.  The  bur- 
lesque interlude  of  the  country  of  Torelore 
is  like  a  page  out  of  Rabelais,  stitched  into 
the  cante-fable  by  mistake.  At  such  lands  as 
Torelore  Pantagruel  and  Panurge  touched 
many  a  time  in  their  vague  voyaging. 
Nobody,  perhaps,  can  care  very  much  about 
Nicolete's  adventures  in  Carthage,  and  her 
recognition  by  her  Paynim  kindred.  If  the 
old  captive  had  been  a  prisoner  among  the 
Saracens,  he  was  too  indolent  or  incurious 
to  make  use  of  his  knowledge.  He  hurries 
on  to  his  journey's  end; 

"  fotirneys  end  in  lovers  meeting.''^ 

So  he  finishes  the  tale.  What  lives  in  it, 
what  makes  it  live,  is  the  touch  of  poetry, 
of  tender  heart,  of  humorous  resignation. 
The  old  captive  says  the  story  will  gladden 
sad  men  :  — 


INTRODUCTION 

"  Nus  bom  n^est  si  esbabis, 
tant  doJans  ni  entrepris, 
de  grant  mal  amaladis, 
se  il  Voit,  ne  soit  garis, 
et  de  joie  resbaudis, 

tant  par  est  douce.' ^ 

This  service  it  did  for  M.  Bida,  the  painter, 
as  he  tells  us  when  he  translated  Aucassin 
in  1870.  In  dark  and  darkening  days, 
patriai  tempoi'e  iniqiio,  we  too  have  turned 
to  Aucassin  et  Nicolete.^ 

1  I  have  not  thought  it  necessary  to  discuss  the 
conjectures,  —  they  are  no  more,  —  about  the  Greek  or 
Arabic  origin  of  the  cante-fable,  about  the  derivation 
of  Aucassin's  name,  the  supposed  copying  of  Floire  «t 
Blancheflor,  the  longitude  and  latitude  of  the  land  of 
Torelore,  and  so  forth.  In  truth  "we  are  in  Love's 
land  to-day,"  where  the  ships  sail  without  wind  or 
compass,  like  the  barques  of  the  Pliseacians.  Brunner 
and  Suchier  add  nothing  positive  to  our  knowledge, 
and  M.  Gaston  Paris  pretends  to  cast  but  little  light  on 
questions  which  it  is  too  curious  to  consider  at  all. 
In  revising  the  translation  I  have  used  vrith  profit  the 
versions  of  M.  Bida,  of  Mr.  Bourdillon,  the  glossary  of 
Suchier,  and  Mr.  Bourdillon's  glossary.  As  for  the 
style  I  have  attempted,  if  not  Old  English,  at  least 
English  which  is  elderly,  with  a  memory  of  Malory, 
The  Ballade  of  Nicolete  is  reprinted,  by  the  Editor's 
permission,  from  Longman's  Magazine. 


Ballade   of   Aucassin 

WHERE  smooth  the  Southern  waters  rim 
Through  rustling  leagues  of  poplars  grajf, 
Beneath  a  veiled  soft  Southern  sun, 
We  wandered  out  of  Yesterday  ; 
Went  Maying  in  that  ancient  May 
Whose  fallen  flowers  are  fragrant  yet. 

And  lingered  by  the  fountain  spray 
With  Aucassin  and  Nicolete. 

The  grassgrown  paths  are  trod  of  none 

Where  through  the  woods  they  went  astray  ; 
The  spider's  traceries  are  spun 

Across  the  darkling  forest  way  ; 

There  come  no  Knights  that  ride  to  slay, 
No  Pilgrims  through  the  grasses  wet, 

No  shepherd  lads  that  sang  their  say 
With  Aucassin  and  Nicolete. 

'  Twas  here  hy  Nicolete  begun 

Her  lodge  of  boughs  and  blossoms  gay  ; 
'Scaped  from  the  cell  of  marble  dun 

'  Twas  here  the  lover  found  the  Fay  ; 

O  lovers  fond,  O  foolish  play  ! 
How  hard  we  find  it  to  forget. 

Who  fain  would  dwell  with  them  as  they, 
With  Aucassin  and  Nicolete. 


BALLADE   OF    AUCASSIN 
ENVOY. 


Prince,  His  a  melancholv  lay  ! 

For  Youth,  for  Life  we  both  regret  : 
How  fair  they  seem  ;  how  far  away, 

IVith  Aucassin  and  Nicolete. 


A.  L. 


Ballade   of  Nicolete 

ALL  bathed  m  pearl  and  amber  light 
She  rose  to  fling  the  lattice  wide, 
And  leaned  into  the  fragrant  night, 
Where  brown  birds  sang  of  summertide  ; 
('  Twas  Love's  own  voice  that  called  and  cried) 
"  Ah,  Sweet  /"  she  said,  "I'll  seek  thee  yet, 
Though  thornest  pathways  should  betide 
The  fair  white  feet  of  Nicolete." 

They  slept,  who  would  have  stayed  her  fight  ; 
{Full  fain  were  they  the  maid  had  died!) 
She  dropped  adown  her  prison's  height 
On  strands  of  linen  featly  tied. 
And  so  she  passed  the  garden-side 
With  loose-leaved  roses  sweetly  set. 
And  dainty  daisies,  dark  beside 
The  fair  white  feet  of  Nicolete  ! 

Her  lover  lay  in  evil  plight 
{So  many  lovers  yet  abide  !  ) 
I  would  my  tongue  could  praise  aright 
Her  name,  that  should  be  glorified. 
Those  lovers  now,  whom  foes  divide, 
A  little  weep, —  and  soon  forget. 
How  far  from  these  faint  lovers  glide 
The  fair  white  feet  of  Nicolete. 


BALLADE   OF    NICOLETE 
ENVOY. 


I 


(My  Trincess^  dof  thy  froien  pride, 
V^or  scorn  to  pay  Love's  golden  debt,  4 

Through  his  dim  woodland  take  for  guide  I 

The  fair  white  feet  of  Nicolete. 


GRAHAM    R.   TOMSON. 


THE  SONG -STORY 

OF 

AUCASSIN  ^  NICOLETE 


'Tis  of  Aucassin  and  Nicolete. 


PVbo  would  list  to  the  good  lay 
Gladness  of  the  captive  grey  ? 
'  TVs  how  two  young  lovers  met, 
Aucassin  and  Nicolete, 
Of  the  pains  the  lover  bore 
And  the  sorrows  he  outwore, 
For  the  goodness  and  the  grace, 
Of  his  love,  so  fair  of  face. 


Sweet  the  song,  the  story  sweet, 
There  is  no  man  hearkens  it. 
No  man  living  'neath  the  sun, 
So  outwearied,  so  foredone. 
Sick  and  woful,  worn  and  sad, 
But  is  healed,  but  is  glad 
'  Tis  so  sweet. 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

So  say  they,  speak  they,  tell  they  the 
Tale: 

How  the  Count  Bougars  de  Valence  made 
war  on  Count  Garln  de  Biaucaire,  war  so 
great,  and  so  marvellous,  and  so  mortal 
that  never  a  day  dawned,  but  alway  he  was 
there,  by  the  gates  and  walls,  and  barriers 
of  the  town  with  a  hundred  knights,  and 
ten  thousand  men  at  arms,  horsemen  and 
footmen  :  so  burned  he  the  Count's  land, 
and  spoiled  his  country,  and  slew  his  men. 
Now  the  Count  Garin  de  Biaucaire  was  old 
and  frail,  and  his  good  days  were  gone  over. 
No  heir  had  he,  neither  son  nor  daughter, 
save  one  young  man  only  ;  such  an  one 
as  I  shall  tell  you.  Aucassin  was  the  name 
of  the  damoiseau  :  fair  was  he,  goodly,  and 
great,  and  featly  fashioned  of  his  body, 
and  limbs.  His  hair  was  yellow,  in  little 
curls,  his  eyes  blue  and  laughing,  his  face 
beautiful  and  shapely,  his  nose  high  and 
well  set,  and  so  richly  seen  was  he  in  all 
things  good,  that  in  him  was  none  evil  at 
all.  But  so  suddenly  overtaken  was  he  of 
Love,  who  is  a  great  master,  that  he  would 
not,  of  his  will,  be  dubbed  knight,  nor  take 
arms,  nor  follow  tourneys,  nor  do  whatso- 
ever him  beseemed.  Therefore  his  father 
and  mother  said  to  him  ; 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

"  Son,  go  take  thine  arms,  mount  thy  horse, 
and  hold  thy  land,  and  help  thy  men,  for  if 
they  see  thee  among  them  more  stoutly  will 
they  keep  in  battle  their  lives,  and  lands,  and 
thine,  and  mine." 

"  Father,"  said  Aucassin,  "  I  marvel  that 
you  will  be  speaking.  Never  may  God  give 
me  aught  of  my  desire  if  I  be  made  knight, 
or  mount  my  horse,  or  face  stour  and  battle 
wherein  knights  smite  and  are  smitten  again, 
unless  thou  give  me  Nicolete,  my  true  love, 
that  I  love  so  well." 

"  Son,''  said  the  father,  <*  this  may  not  be. 
Let  Nicolete  go,  a  slave  girl  she  is,  out  of  a 
strange  land,  and  the  captain  of  this  town 
bought  her  of  the  Saracens,  and  carried  her 
hither,  and  hath  reared  her  and  let  christen 
the  maid,  and  took  her  for  his  daughter  in 
God,  and  one  day  will  find  a  young  man  for 
her,  to  win  her  bread  honourably.  Herein 
hast  thou  naught  to  make  or  mend,  but  if 
a  wife  thou  wilt  have,  I  will  give  thee  the 
daughter  of  a  King,  or  a  Count.  There  is 
no  man  so  rich  in  France,  but  if  thou  desire 
his  daughter,  thou  shalt  have  her." 

"  Faith  !  my  father,"  said  Aucassin,  "  tell 
me  where  is  the  place  so  high  in  all  the 
world,  that  Nicolete,  my  sweet  lady  and 
love,  would  not  grace  it  well  ?  If  she  were 
Empress  of  Constantinople  or  of  Germany, 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

or  Queen  of  France  or  England,  it  were 
little  enough  for  her;  so  gentle  is  she  and 
courteous,  and  debonaire,  and  compact  of 
all  good  qualities." 

Here  singeth  one  : 

Âucassin  was  of  Biaiicaire 
Of  a  goodly  castle  there, 
But  from  Nicolete  the  fair 
None  might  win  his  heart  awajy 
Though  his  father,  manj;  a  dajp, 
And  his  mother  said  him  nay, 
''Ha!  fond  child,  what  wouldst  thou  ? 
Nicolete  is  glad  enow  ! 
JVas  from  Carthage  cast  awajf, 
Tajpnims  sold  her  on  a  day  ! 
fVouldst  thou  win  a  lady  fair 
Choose  a  maid  of  high  degree 
Such  an  one  is  meet  for  thee.'" 
'•  Nay  of  these  have  I  no  care, 
Nicolete  is  debonaire. 
Her  body  sweet  and  the  face  of  her 
Take  my  heart  as  in  a  snare. 
Loyal  love  is  but  her  share 
That  is  so  sweet." 


Then  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale: 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

When  the  Count  Garin  de  Biaucaire 
knew  that  he  would  not  avail  to  withdraw 
Aucassin  his  son  from  the  love  of  Nicolete, 
he  went  to  the  Captain  of  the  city,  who  was 
his  man,  and  spake  to  him,  saying  : 

"  Sir  Count  ;  away  with  Nicolete  thy 
daughter  in  God;  cursed  be  the  land 
whence  she  was  brought  into  this  country, 
for  by  reason  of  her  do  I  lose  Aucassin, 
that  will  neither  be  dubbed  knight,  nor  do 
aught  of  the  things  that  fall  to  him  to  be 
done.  And  wit  ye  well,"  he  said,  "  that  if 
I  might  have  her  at  my  will,  I  would  burn 
her  in  a  fire,  and  yourself  might  well  be  sore 
adread." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Captain,  "  this  is  grievous 
to  me  that  he  comes  and  goes  and  hath 
speech  with  her.  I  had  bought  the  maiden 
at  mine  own  charges,  and  nourished  her, 
and  baptised,  and  made  her  my  daughter 
in  God.  Yea,  I  would  have  given  her  to 
a  young  man  that  should  win  her  bread 
honourably.  With  this  had  Aucassin  thy 
son  naught  to  make  or  mend.  But,  sith  it 
is  thy  will  and  thy  pleasure,  I  will  send  her 
into  that  land,  and  that  country  where 
never  will  he  see  her  wdth  his  eyes." 

"  Have  a  heed  to  thyself,"  said  the  Count 
Garin,  "thence  might  great  evil  come  on 
thee." 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

So  parted  they  each  from  other.  Now 
the  Captain  was  a  right  rich  man  :  so  had 
he  a  rich  palace  with  a  garden  in  face  of  it  ; 
in  an  upper  chamber  thereof  he  let  place 
Nicolete,  with  one  old  woman  to  keep  her 
company,  and  in  that  chamber  put  bread 
and  meat  and  wine  and  such  things  as  were 
needful.  Then  he  let  seal  the  door,  that 
none  might  come  in  or  go  forth,  save  that 
there  was  one  window,  over  against  the 
garden,  and  straight  enough,  where  through 
came  to  them  a  little  air. 


Here  singeth  one  : 

Nicolete  as  ye  heard  tell 
Prisoned  is  within  a  cell 
That  is  painted  wondrousljf 
IVith  colours  of  a  far  countrie, 
And  the  window  of  marble  wrought, 
There  the  maiden  stood  in  thought, 
JVith  straight  brows  and  yellow  hair 
Never  saw  ve  fairer  fair  ! 
On  the  wood  she  ga^ed  below, 
And  she  saw  the  roses  blow. 
Heard  the  birds  sing  loud  and  low, 
Therefore  spoke  she  wofulljy  : 
*'  Âh  me,  wherefore  do  I  lie 
Here  in  prison  wrongfully  : 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

Âucassin  my  love,  nry  knight, 
Am  I  not  thy  heart's  delight. 
Thou  that  lovest  me  aright  ! 
*  Tis  for  thee  that  I  must  dwell 
In  the  vaulted  chamber  cell, 
Hard  he  set  and  all  alone  ! 
Bjy  our  Ladjy  Mary  s  Son 
Here  no  longer  will  I  wonn. 
If  I  may  flee  Î'''' 

Then  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

Nicolete  was  in  prison,  as  ye  have  heard 
soothly,  in  the  chamber.  And  the  noise 
and  bruit  of  it  went  through  all  the  country 
and  all  the  land,  how  that  Nicolete  was  lost. 
Some  said  she  had  fled  the  country,  and 
some  that  the  Count  Garin  de  Biaucaire  had 
let  slay  her.  Whosoever  had  joy  thereof 
Aucassin  had  none,  so  he  went  to  the 
Captain  of  the  town  and  spake  to  him, 
saying  : 

"  Sir  Captain,  what  hast  thou  made  of 
Nicolete,  my  sweet  lady  and  love,  the  thing 
that  best  I  love  in  all  the  world  ?  Hast 
thou  carried  her  off  or  ravished  her  away 
from  me  ?  Know  well  that  if  I  die  of  it, 
the  price  shall  be  demanded  of  thee,  and 
that  will  be  well  done,  for  it  shall  be  even 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLKTE 

as  if  thou  hadst  slain  me  with  thy  two 
hands,  for  thou  hast  taken  from  me  the 
thing  that  in  this  world  I  loved  the  best." 

"Fair  Sir,"  said  the  Captain,  "let  these 
things  be.  Nicolete  is  a  captive  that  I  did 
bring  from  a  strange  country.  Yea,  I  bought 
her  at  my  own  charges  of  the  Saracens,  and 
I  bred  her  up  and  baptised  her,  and  made  her 
my  daughter  in  God.  And  I  have  cherished 
her,  and  one  of  these  days  I  would  have 
given  her  a  young  man,  to  win  her  bread 
honourably.  With  this  hast  thou  naught 
to  make,  but  do  thou  take  the  daughter  of  a 
King  or  a  Count.  Nay  more,  what  wouldst 
thou  deem  thee  to  have  gained,  hadst  thou 
made  her  thy  leman,  and  taken  her  to  thy 
bed  ?  Plentiful  lack  of  comfort  hadst  thou 
got  thereby,  for  in  Hell  would  thy  soul  have 
lain  while  the  world  endures,  and  into  Para- 
dise wouldst  thou  have  entered  never." 

"  In  Paradise  what  have  I  to  win  ?  Therein 
I  seek  not  to  enter,  but  only  to  have  Nicolete, 
my  sweet  lady  that  I  love  so  well.  For  into 
Paradise  go  none  but  such  folk  as  I  shall 
tell  thee  now:  Thither  go  these  same  old 
priests,  and  halt  old  men  and  maimed,  who 
all  day  and  night  cower  continually  before 
the  altars,  and  in  the  crypts  ;  and  such  folk 
as  wear  old  amices  and  old  clouted  frocks, 
and  naked  folk  and  shoeless,  and  covered 


lo 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLKTE 

with  sores,  perishing  of  hunger  and  thirst, 
and  of  cold,  and  of  little  ease.  These  be 
they  that  go  into  Paradise,  with  them  have 
I  naught  to  make.  But  into  Hell  would  I 
fain  go  ;  for  into  Hell  fare  the  goodly  clerks, 
and  goodly  knights  that  fall  in  tourneys  and 
great  wars,  and  stout  men  at  arms,  and  all 
men  noble.  With  these  would  I  liefly  go. 
And  thither  pass  the  sweet  ladies  and 
courteous  that  have  two  lovers,  or  three, 
and  their  lords  also  thereto.  Thither  goes 
the  gold,  and  the  silver,  and  cloth  of  vair, 
and  cloth  of  gris,  and  harpers,  and  makers, 
and  the  prince  of  this  world.  With  these 
I  would  gladly  go,  let  me  but  have  with  me, 
Nicolete,  my  sweetest  lady." 

"Certes,"  quote  the  Captain,  "in  vain  wilt 
thou  speak  thereof,  for  never  shalt  thou  see 
her;  and  if  thou  hadst  word  with  her,  and 
thy  father  knew  it,  he  would  let  burn  in  a 
fire  both  her  and  me,  and  thyself  might  well 
be  sore  adread." 

"That  is  even  what  irketh  me,"  quoth 
Aucassin.  So  he  went  from  the  Captain 
sorrowing. 

Here  singeth  one  : 

tAucassin  did  so  depart 

Much  in  dole  and  heavy  at  heart 


II 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

For  his  love  so  bright  and  d^ar, 
Nofte  might  bring  him  any  cheer. 
None  might  give  good  words  to  bear, 
To  the  palace  doth  he  fare 
Climbeth  up  the  palace-stair, 
Passeth  to  a  chamber  there, 
Thus  great  sorrow  doth  he  bear 
For  his  ladjf  and  love  so  fair. 

"  tJ^icolete  how  fair  art  thou, 
Sweet  thy  foot-fall,  sweet  thine  eyes, 
Sweet  the  mirth  of  thy  replies, 
Sweet  thy  laughter,  sweet  thy  face. 
Sweet  thy  lips  and  sweet  thy  brow, 
And  the  touch  of  thine  embrace, 
All  for  thee  I  sorrow  now, 
Captive  in  an  evil  place, 
Whence  I  ne'er  may  go  my  ways 
Sister,  sweet  friend  !  " 

So  say  they,  speak  they,  tell  they  the  Tale  : 

While  Aucassin  was  in  the  chamber 
sorrowing  for  Nicolete  his  love,  even  then 
the  Count  Bougars  de  Valence,  that  had  his 
war  to  wage,  forgat  it  no  whit,  but  had  called 
up  his  horsemen  and  his  footmen,  so  made 
he  for  the  castle  to  storm  it.  And  the  cry 
of  battle  arose,  and  the  din,  and  knights 
and  men  at  arms  busked  them,  and  ran  to 


12 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

walls  and  gates  to  hold  the  keep.  And  the 
towns-folk  mounted  to  the  battlements,  and 
cast  down  bolts,  and  pikes.  Then  while  the 
assault  was  great,  and  even  at  its  height, 
the  Count  Garin  de  Biaucaire  came  into  the 
chamber  where  Aucassin  was  making  lament, 
sorrowing  for  Nicolete,  his  sweet  lady  that 
he  loved  so  well. 

"Ha!  son,"  quoth  he,  "how  caitiff  art 
thou,  and  cowardly,  that  canst  see  men 
assail  thy  goodliest  castle  and  strongest. 
Know  thou  that  if  thou  lose  it,  thou  losest 
all.  Son,  go  to,  take  arms,  and  mount  thy 
horse,  and  defend  thy  land,  and  help  thy  men, 
and  fare  into  the  stour.  Thou  needst  not 
smite  nor  be  smitten.  If  they  do  but  see 
thee  among  them,  better  will  they  guard 
their  substance,  and  their  lives,  and  thy 
land  and  mine.  And  thou  art  so  great,  and 
hardy  of  thy  hands,  that  well  mightst  thou 
do  this  thing,  and  to  do  it  is  thy  devoir." 

"Father,"  said  Aucassin,  "what  is  this 
thou  sayest  now?  God  grant  me  never 
aught  of  my  desire,  if  I  be  dubbed  knight, 
or  mount  steed,  or  go  into  the  stour  where 
knights  do  smite  and  are  smitten,  if  thou 
givest  me  not  Nicolete,  my  sweet  lady,  whom 
I  love  so  well." 

"  Son,"  quoth  his  father,  "  this  may  never 
be  :  rather  would  I  be  quite  disinherited  and 


13 


AUCASSIN    &    NICOLETE 

lose  all  that  is  mine,  than  that  thou  shouldst 
have  her  to  thy  wife,  or  to  \ovepar  amours.'' 

So  he  turned  him  about.  But  when 
Aucassin  saw  him  going  he  called  to  him 
again,  saying, 

"  Father,  go  to  now,  I  will  make  with  thee 
fair  covenant." 

"  What  covenant,  fair  son  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  up  arms,  and  go  into  the 
stour,  on  this  covenant,  that,  if  God  bring 
me  back  sound  and  safe,  thou  wilt  let  me 
see  Nicolete  my  sweet  lady,  even  so  long 
that  I  may  have  of  her  two  words  or  three, 
and  one  kiss." 

"  That  will  I  grant,"  said  his  father. 

At  this  was  Aucassin  glad. 

Here  one  singeth  : 

Of  the  kiss  heard  Aucassin 
That  returning  he  shall  win. 
tHpne  so  glad  would  he  have  been 
Of  a  myriad  marks  of  gold 
Of  a  hundred  thousand  told. 
Called  for  raiment  brave  of  steel, 
Then  they  clad  him,  head  to  heel, 
Twjfold  hauberk  doth  he  don, 
Firmly  braced  the  helmet  on. 
Girt  the  sword  with  hilt  of  gold, 
Horse  doth  mount,  and  lance  doth  wield. 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

Looks  to  stirrups  and  to  shield, 
IVondrous  brave  he  rode  to  field. 
Dreaming  of  his  lady  dear 
Setteth  spurs  to  the  destrere 
Rideth  forward  without  fear, 
Through  the  gate  and  forth  away 
To  the  fray. 

So  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

Aucassin  was  armed  and  mounted  as  ye 
have  heard  tell.  God  !  how  goodly  sat  the 
shield  on  his  shoulder,  the  helm  on  his  head, 
and  the  baldric  on  his  left  haunch  !  And  the 
damoiseau  was  tall,  fair,  featly  fashioned,  and 
hardy  of  his  hands,  and  the  horse  whereon 
he  rode  swift  and  keen,  and  straight  had  he 
spurred  him  forth  of  the  gate.  Now  believe 
ye  not  that  his  mind  was  on  kine,  nor  cattle 
of  the  booty,  nor  thought  he  how  he  might 
strike  a  knight,  nor  be  stricken  again  :  nor  no 
such  thing.  Nay,  no  memory  had  Aucassin 
of  aught  of  these  ;  rather  he  so  dreamed  of 
Nicolete,  his  sweet  lady,  that  he  dropped  his 
reins,  forgetting  all  there  was  to  do,  and 
his  horse  that  had  felt  the  spur,  bore  him 
into  the  press  and  hurled  among  the  foe,  and 
they  laid  hands  on  him  all  about,  and  took 
him  captive,  and  seized  away  his  spear  and 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

shield,  and  straightway  they  led  him  off  a 
prisoner,  and  were  even  now  discoursing  of 
what  death  he  should  die. 

And  when  Aucassin  heard  them, 
"  Hal  God,"  said  he,  "sweet  Saviour.  Be 
these  my  deadly  enemies  that  have  taken  me, 
and  will  soon  cut  off  my  head  ?  And  once 
my  head  is  off,  no  more  shall  I  speak  with 
Nicolete,  my  sweet  lady  that  I  love  so  well. 
Natheless  have  I  here  a  good  sword,  and  sit 
a  good  horse  unwearied.  If  now  I  keep  not 
my  head  for  her  sake,  God  help  her  never, 
if  she  love  me  more  1  " 

The  damoiseau  was  tall  and  strong,  and 
the  horse  whereon  he  sat  was  right  eager. 
And  he  laid  hand  to  sword,  and  fell  a-smiting 
to  right  and  left,  and  smote  through  helm  and 
nasal,  and  arm  and  clenched  hand,  making 
a  murder  about  him,  like  a  wild  boar  when 
hounds  fall  on  him  in  the  forest,  even  till  he 
struck  down  ten  knights,  and  seven  he  hurt, 
and  straightway  he  hurled  out  of  the  press, 
and  rode  back  again  at  full  speed,  sword  in 
hand.  The  Count  Bougars  de  Valence  heard 
say  they  were  about  hanging  Aucassin,  his 
enemy,  so  he  came  into  that  place,  and 
Aucassin  was  ware  of  him,  and  gat  his  sword 
into  his  hand,  and  lashed  at  his  helm  with 
such  a  stroke  that  he  drave  it  down  on  his 
head,  and  he  being  stunned,  fell  grovelling. 


i6 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

And  Aucassin  laid  hands  on  him,  and  caught 
him  by  the  iiasal  of  his  helmet,  and  gave 
him  to  his  father. 

"Father,"  quoth  Aucassin,  "lo  here  is 
your  mortal  foe,  who  hath  so  warred  on  you 
with  all  malengin.  Full  twenty  years  did 
this  war  endure,  and  might  not  be  ended  by 
man." 

**  Fair  son,"  said  his  father,  "  thy  feats  of 
youth  shouldst  thou  do,  and  not  seek  after 
folly." 

"Father,"  saith  Aucassin,  "sermon  me  no 
sermons,  but  fulfil  my  covenant." 

"  Ha  !  what  covenant,  fair  son  ?  " 

"  What,  father,  hast  thou  forgotten  it  ? 
By  mine  own  head,  whosoever  forgets,  will 
I  not  forget  it,  so  much  it  hath  me  at  heart. 
Didst  thou  not  covenant  with  me  when  I 
took  up  arms,  and  went  into  the  stour,  that 
if  God  brought  me  back  safe  and  sound, 
thou  wouldst  let  me  see  Nicolete,  my  sweet 
lady,  even  so  long  that  I  may  have  of  her 
two  words  or  three,  and  one  kiss  ?  So  didst 
thou  covenant,  and  my  mind  is  that  thou 
keep  thy  word." 

"Il"  quoth  the  father,  "  God  forsake  me 
when  I  keep  this  covenant  I  Nay,  if  she 
were  here,  I  would  let  bum  her  in  the  fire, 
and  thyself  shouldst  be  sore  adread." 

"  Is  this  thy  last  word?"  quoth  Aucassin. 


17 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

"So  help  me  God,"  quoth  his  father, 
"yeal" 

*'  Certes,"  quoth  Aucassin,  "  this  is  a  sorry 
thing  meseems  when  a  man  of  thine  age 
lies." 

"  Count  of  Valence,"  quoth  Aucassin,  "  I 
took  thee?" 

"  In  sooth.  Sir,  didst  thou,"  saith  the 
Count. 

"  Give  me  thy  hand,"  saith  Aucassin. 

"  Sir,  with  good  will." 

So  he  set  his  hand  in  the  other's. 

"  Now  givest  thou  me  thy  word,"  saith 
Aucassin,  "  that  never  whiles  thou  art  living 
man  wilt  thou  avail  to  do  my  father  dis- 
honour, or  harm  him  in  body,  or  in  goods, 
but  do  it  thou  wilt  }  " 

"  Sir,  in  God's  name,"  saith  he,  "  mock  me 
not,  but  put  me  to  my  ransom  ;  ye  cannot  ask 
of  me  gold  nor  silver,  horses  nor  palfreys, 
vatr  nor  gris,  hawks  nor  hounds,  but  I  will 
give  you  them." 

"  What  ?  "  quoth  Aucassin.  "  Ha,  knowest 
thou  not  it  was  I  that  took  thee  ?  " 

*'  Yea,  sir,"  quoth  the  Count  Bougars. 

"  God  help  me  never,  but  I  will  make  thy 
head  fly  from  thy  shoulders,  if  thou  makest 
not  troth,"  said  Aucassin. 

**  In  God's  name,"  said  he,  "  I  make  what 
promise  thou  wilt." 


i8 


AUCASSIN    &    NICOLETE 

So  they  did  the  oath,  and  Aucassin  let 
mount  him  on  a  horse,  and  took  another 
and  so  led  him  back  till  he  was  in  all  safety. 

Here  one  singeth  : 

IVhen  the  Count  Gar  in  doth  know 
That  his  child  would  ne'er  forego 
Love  of  her  that  loved  him  so, 
Nicolete,  the  bright  of  brow, 
In  a  dungeon  deep  below 
Childe  Aucassin  did  he  throw. 
Even  there  the  Childe  must  dwell 
In  a  dun-walled  marble  cell. 
There  he  waileth  in  his  woe 
Crying  thus  as  ye  shall  know. 

"  Nicolete,  thou  lily  white, 
My  sweet  lady,  bright  of  brow. 
Sweeter  than  the  grape  art  thou, 
Sweeter  than  sack  posset  good 
In  a  cup  of  maplewood  ! 
Was  it  not  but  yesterday 
That  a  palmer  came  this  way. 
Out  of  Limousin  came  he. 
And  at  ease  he  might  not  be, 
For  a  passian  him  possessed 
That  upon  his  bed  he  lay, 
Lay,  and  tossed,  and  knew  not  rest 
In  his  pain  discomforted. 


19 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

But  thou  earnest  ly  the  hed, 
Where  he  tossed  amid  his  pain, 
Holding  high  thy  sweeping  train, 
And  thy  kirtle  of  ermine, 
And  thy  smock  of  linen  fine, 
Then  these  fair  white  limbs  of  thine, 
Did  he  look  on,  and  it  fell 
That  the  palmer  straight  was  well, 
Straight  was  hale  —  and  comforted. 
And  he  rose  up  from  his  hed. 
And  went  hack  to  his  own  place, 
Sound  and  strong,  and  full  of  face  ! 
My  sweet  lady,  lily  white. 
Sweet  thy  footfall,  sweet  thine  eyes. 
And  the  mirth  of  thy  replies. 
Sweet  thy  laughter,  sweet  thy  face. 
Sweet  thy  lips  and  sweet  thy  hroio. 
And  the  touch  of  thine  embrace. 
IVho  but  doth  in  thee  delight  ? 
I  for  love  of  thee  am  boimd 
In  this  dungeon  under  ground, 
tÂll  for  loving  thee  must  lie 
Here  where  loud  on  thee  I  cry, 
Here  for  loving  thee  must  die 
For  thee,  my  love'' 

Then  say  they,  speak  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

Aucassin  was  cast  into  prison  as  ye  have 
heard  tell,  and   Nicolete,  of  her  part,  was 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

in  the  chamber.  Now  it  was  summer  time, 
the  month  of  May,  when  days  are  warm, 
and  long,  and  clear,  and  the  night  still  and 
serene.  Nicolete  lay  one  night  on  her  bed, 
and  saw  the  moon  shine  clear  through  a 
window,  yea,  and  heard  the  nightingale  sing 
in  the  garden,  so  she  minded  her  of  Aucassin 
her  lover  whom  she  loved  so  well.  Then 
fell  she  to  thoughts  of  Count  Garin  de  Biau- 
caire,  that  hated  her  to  the  death  ;  therefore 
deemed  she  that  there  she  would  no  longer 
abide,  for  that,  if  she  were  told  of,  and  the 
Count  knew  whereas  she  lay,  an  ill  death 
would  he  make  her  die.  Now  she  knew 
that  the  old  woman  slept  who  held  her 
company.  Then  she  arose,  and  clad  her  in  a 
mantle  of  silk  she  had  by  her,  very  goodly, 
and  took  napkins,  and  sheets  of  the  bed,  and 
knotted  one  to  the  other,  and  made  there- 
with a  cord  as  long  as  she  might,  so  knitted 
it  to  a  pillar  in  the  window,  and  let  herself 
slip  down  into  the  garden,  then  caught 
up  her  raiment  in  both  hands,  behind  and 
before,  and  kilted  up  her  kirtle,  because  of 
the  dew  that  she  saw  lying  deep  on  the 
grass,  and  so  went  her  way  down  through 
the  garden. 

Her  locks  were  yellow  and  curled,  her  eyes 
blue  and  smiling,  her  face  featly  fashioned, 
the  nose  high  and  fairly  set,  the  lips  more 


AUCASSIN    &    NICOLETE 

red  than  cherry  or  rose  in  time  of  summer, 
her  teeth  white  and  small  ;  her  breasts  so 
firm  that  they  bore  up  the  folds  of  her 
bodice  as  they  had  been  two  apples;  so 
slim  she  was  in  the  waist  that  your  two 
hands  might  have  clipped  her,  and  the  daisy 
flowers  that  brake  beneath  her  as  she  went 
tip-toe,  and  that  bent  above  her  instep, 
seemed  black  against  her  feet,  so  white  was 
the  maiden.  She  came  to  the  postern  gate, 
and  unbarred  it,  and  went  out  through  the 
streets  of  Biaucaire,  keeping  always  on 
the  shadowy  side,  for  the  moon  was  shining 
right  clear,  and  so  wandered  she  till  she 
came  to  the  tower  where  her  lover  lay.  The 
tower  was  flanked  with  buttresses,  and  she 
cowered  under  one  of  them,  wrapped  in  her 
mantle.  Then  thrust  she  her  head  through 
a  crevice  of  the  tower  that  was  old  and 
worn,  and  so  heard  she  Aucassin  v/ailing 
within,  and  making  dole  and  lament  for  the 
sweet  lady  he  loved  so  well.  And  when  she 
had  listened  to  him  she  began  to  say; 

Here  one  singeth; 

Nicolete  the  hright  of  brow 
On  a  pillar  leanest  thou, 
All  Aucassin^ s  wail  dost  hear 
For  his  love  that  is  so  dear, 


22 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

Then  thou  spakest,  shrill  and  clear, 
"  Gentle  knight  withouten  fear 
Little  good  hefalleth  thee. 
Little  help  of  sigh  or  tear, 
Ne'er  shalt  thou  have  joy  of  me. 
Never  shalt  thou  win  me  ;  still 
Am  I  held  in  evil  will 
Of  ihj'  father  and  thjy  kin. 
Therefore  must  I  cross  the  sea, 
tÂnd  another  land  must  win.*' 
Then  she  cut  her  curls  of  gold, 
Cast  them  in  the  dungeon  hold, 
t/Jucassin  doth  clasp  them  there, 
Kissed  the  curls  that  were  so  fair. 
Them  doth  in  his  bosom  bear. 
Then  he  wept,  even  as  of  old, 
All  for  his  love  ! 

Then  say  they,  speak  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

When  Aucassin  heard  Nicolete  say  that 
she  would  pass  into  a  far  country,  he  was 
all  in  wrath. 

'*  Fair  sweet  friend,"  quoth  he,  "  thou  shalt 
not  go,  for  then  wouldst  thou  be  my  death. 
And  the  first  man  that  saw  thee  and  had  thee 
might  withal,  would  take  thee  straight\\-ay 
into  his  bed  to  be  his  leman.  And  once 
thou  earnest  into  a  man's  bed,  and  that  bed 


23 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

not  mine,  wit  ye  well  that  I  would  not  tarry 
till  I  had  found  a  knife  to  pierce  my  heart 
and  slay  myself.  Nay,  verily,  wait  so  long 
I  would  not  :  but  would  hurl  myself  on  it 
so  soon  as  I  could  find  a  wall,  or  a  black 
stone,  thereon  would  I  dash  my  head  so 
mightily,  that  the  eyes  would  start,  and  my 
brain  burst.  Rather  would  I  die  even  such 
a  death,  than  know  thou  hadst  lain  in  a 
man's  bed,  and  that  bed  not  mine." 

"  Aucassin,"  she  said,  "I  trow  thou  lovest 
me  not  as  much  as  thou  sayest,  but  I  love 
thee  more  than  thou  lovest  me." 

*' Ah, fair  sweet  friend,"  said  Aucassin,  "it 
may  not  be  that  thou  shouldst  love  me  even 
as  I  love  thee.  Woman  may  not  love  man  as 
man  loves  woman,  for  a  woman's  love  lies 
in  the  glance  of  her  eye,  and  the  bud  of  her 
breast,  and  her  foot's  tip-toe,  but  the  love  of 
man  is  in  his  heart  planted,  whence  it  can 
never  issue  forth  and  pass  away." 

Now  while  Aucassin  and  Nicolete  held 
this  parley  together,  the  town's  guards  came 
down  a  street,  with  swords  drawn  beneath 
their  cloaks,  for  the  Count  Garin  had  charged 
them  that  if  they  could  take  her  they  should 
slay  her.  But  the  sentinel  that  was  on  the 
tower  saw  them  coming,  and  heard  them 
speaking  of  Nicolete  as  they  went,  and 
threatening  to  slay  her. 


24 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

"  God  I  "  quoth  he,  "  this  were  great  pity 
to  slay  so  fair  a  maid  !  Right  great  charity 
it  were  if  I  could  say  aught  to  her,  and  they 
perceive  it  not,  and  she  should  be  on  her 
guard  against  them,  for  if  they  slay  her,  then 
were  Aucassin,  my  damoiseau,  dead,  and  that 
were  great  pity." 

Here  one  singeth  : 

Valiant  was  the  seutinel, 
Courteous,  kind,  and  practised  well, 
So  a  song  did  sing  and  tell 
Of  the  peril  that  befell. 
"  Maiden  fair  that  lingerest  here,  i 

Gentle  maid  of  inerrj>  cheer. 
Hair  of  gold,  and  eyes  as  clear 
As  the  water  in  a  mere, 
Thou,  meseems,  hast  spoken  word 
To  thjy  lover  and  thy  lord, 
That  would  die  for  thee,  his  dear  ; 
Now  beware  the  ill  accord. 
Of  the  cloaked  men  of  the  sword, 
These  have  sxoorn  and  keep  their  word, 
They  will  put  thee  to  the  sword 
Save  thou  take  heed!^' 

Then  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

"Hal"  quoth  Nicolete,  "be  the  soul  of 
25 


AUCASSIN    &    NICOLETE 

thy  father  and  the  soul  of  thy  mother  in  the 
rest  of  Paradise,  so  fairly  and  so  courteously 
hast  thou  spoken  me  I  Please  God,  I  will 
be  right  ware  of  them,  God  keep  me  out  of 
their  hands." 

So  she  shrank  under  her  mantle  into  the 
shadow  of  the  pillar  till  they  had  passed  by, 
and  then  took  she  farewell  of  Aucassin,  and 
so  fared  till  she  came  unto  the  castle  wall. 
Now  that  wall  was  wasted  and  broken,  and 
some  deal  mended,  so  she  clomb  thereon 
till  she  came  between  wall  and  fosse,  and 
so  looked  down,  and  saw  that  the  fosse  was 
deep  and  steep,  whereat  she  was  sore  adread. 

"Ah  God,"  saith  she,  "sweet  Saviour! 
If  I  let  myself  fall  hence,  I  shall  break  my 
neck,  and  if  here  I  abide,  to-morrow  they  will 
take  me,  and  burn  me  in  a  fire.  Yet  liefer 
would  I  perish  here  than  that  to-morrow  the 
folk  should  stare  on  me  for  a  gazing-stock." 

Then  she  crossed  herself,  and  so  let  herself 
slip  into  the  fosse,  and  when  she  had  come 
to  the  bottom,  her  fair  feet,  and  fair  hands 
that  had  not  custom  thereof,  were  bruised 
and  frayed,  and  the  blood  springing  from  a 
dozen  places,  yet  felt  she  no  pain  nor  hurt, 
by  reason  of  the  great  dread  wherein  she 
went.  But  if  she  were  in  cumber  to  win 
there,  in  worse  was  she  to  win  out.  But 
she  deemed  that  there  to  abide  was  of  none 


26 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

avail,  and  she  found  a  pike  sharpened,  that 
they  of  the  city  had  thrown  out  to  keep  the 
hold.  Therewith  made  she  one  stepping 
place  after  another,  till,  with  much  travail, 
she  climbed  the  wall.  Now  the  forest  lay 
within  two  crossbow  shots,  and  the  forest 
was  of  thirty  leagues  this  way  and  that. 
Therein  also  were  wild  beasts,  and  beasts 
serpentine,  and  she  feared  that  if  she  entered 
there  they  would  slay  her.  But  anon  she 
deemed  that  if  men  found  her  there  they 
would  hale  her  back  into  the  town  to  burn 
her. 


Here  one  singeth  : 

Ntcolete,  the  fair  of  face, 
Climhed  upon  the  coping  stone, 
There  made  she  lament  and  moan 
Calling  on  our  Lord  alone 
For  his  mercy  and  his  grace. 

*'  Father,  king  of  Majesty, 
Listen,  for  I  nothing  know 
Where  to  flee  or  whither  go. 
If  within  the  wood  I  fare, 
Lo,  the  wolves  will  slay  me  there. 
Boars  and  lions  terrible, 
Many  in  the  wild  wood  dwell, 


27 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 


'But  if  I  abide  the  day, 
Surely  worse  will  come  of  it, 
Surely  will  the  fire  he  lit 
That  shall  hum  my  body  away, 
Jesus,  lord  of  Majesty, 
Better  seemeth  it  to  me, 
That  within  the  wood  I  fare, 
Though  the  wolves  devour  me  there 
Than  within  the  town  to  go, 
Ne'er  he  it  so!'' 


Then  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

Nicolete  made  great  moan,  as  ye  have 
heard  ;  then  commended  she  herself  to  God, 
and  anon  fared  till  she  came  unto  the  forest, 
lîut  to  go  deep  in  it  she  dared  not,  by  reason 
of  the  wild  beasts,  and  beasts  serpentine. 
Anon  crept  she  into  a  little  thicket,  where 
sleep  came  upon  her,  and  she  slept  till  prime 
next  day,  when  the  shepherds  issued  forth 
from  the  town  and  drove  their  bestial  between 
wood  and  wator.  Anon  came  they  all  into 
one  place  by  a  fair  fountain  which  was  on 
the  fringe  of  the  forest,  thereby  spread  they 
a  mantle,  and  thereon  set  bread.  So  while 
they  were  eating,  Nicolete  wakened,  with 
the   sound  of    the   singing    birds,   and   the 


28 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

shepherds,  and  she  went  unto  them,  saying, 
**  Fair  boys,  our  Lord  keep  you  I  " 

"God  bless  thee,"  quoth  he  that  had  more 
words  to  his  tongue  than  the  rest. 

*'  Fair  boys,"  quoth  she,  "  know  ye 
Aucassin,  the  son  of  Count  Garin  de 
Biaucaire  ?  " 

"  Yea,  well  we  know  him." 

"  So  may  God  help  you,  fair  boys,"  quoth 
she,  "  tell  him  there  is  a  beast  in  this  forest, 
and  bid  him  come  chase  it,  and  if  he  can 
take  it,  he  would  not  give  one  Umb  thereof 
for  a  hundred  marks  of  gold,  nay,  nor  for 
five  hundred,  nor  for  any  ransom." 

Then  looked  they  on  her,  and  saw  her  so 
fair  that  they  were  all  astonied. 

"  Will  I  tell  him  thereof  ?  "  quoth  he  that 
had  more  words  to  his  tongue  than  the  rest  ; 
"foul  fall  him  who  speaks  of  the  thing  or 
tells  him  the  tidings.  These  are  but  visions 
ye  tell  of,  for  there  is  no  beast  so  great  in 
this  forest,  stag,  nor  lion,  nor  boar,  that  one 
of  his  limbs  is  worth  more  than  two  deniers, 
or  three  at  the  most,  and  ye  speak  of  such 
great  ransom.  Foul  fall  him  that  believes 
your  word,  and  him  that  telleth  Aucassin. 
Ye  be  a  Fairy,  and  we  have  none  liking  for 
your  company,  nay,  hold  on  your  road." 

"  Nay,  fair  boys,"  quoth  she,  '•  nay,  ye  will 
do  my  bidding.     For  this  beast  is  so  mighty 


29 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

of  medicine  that  thereby  will  Auc^in  be 
healed  of  his  torment.  And  loi  I  have 
five  sols  in  my  purse,  take  them,  and  tell 
him  :  for  within  three  days  must  he  come 
hunting  it  hither,  and  if  within  three  days 
he  find  it  not,  never  will  he  be  healed  of  his 
torment." 

"  My  faith,"  quoth  he,  "  the  money  will  we 
take,  and  if  he  come  hither  we  will  tell  him, 
but  seek  him  we  will  not." 

"  In  God's  name,"  quoth  she  ;  and  so  took 
farewell  of  the  shepherds,  and  went  her  way. 

Here  singeth  one  : 

Nicolete  the  bright  of  brow 
From  the  shepherds  doth  she  pass 
All  below  the  blossomed  bough 
Where  an  ancient  way  there  was, 
Overgrown  and  choked  with  grass, 
Till  she  found  the  cross-roads  where 
Seven  paths  do  all  way  fare, 
Then  she  deemeih  she  will  try, 
Should  her  lover  pass  thereby. 
If  he  love  her  loyally. 
So  she  gathered  white  lilies, 
Oak-leaf,  that  in  green  wood  is. 
Leaves  of  many  a  branch  I  wis. 
Therewith  built  a  lodge  of  green. 
Goodlier  was  never  seen, 


30 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

Swore  hy  God  who  may  not  lie, 
"  If  my  love  the  lodge  should  spy, 
He  will  rest  awhile  thereby 
If  he  love  me  loyally ^ 
Thus  his  faith  she  deemed  to  try, 
"  Or  I  love  him  not,  not  I, 
Nor  he  loves  me!'' 

Then  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

Nicolete  built  her  lodge  of  boughs,  as  ye 
have  heard,  right  fair  and  feteously,  and 
wove  it  well,  within  and  without,  of  flowers 
and  leaves.  So  lay  she  hard  by  the  lodge 
in  a  deep  coppice  to  know  what  Aucassin 
will  do.  And  the  cry  and  the  bruit  went 
abroad  through  all  the  country  and  all  the 
land,  that  Nicolete  was  lost.  Some  told 
that  she  had  fled,  and  some  that  the  Count 
Garin  had  let  slay  her.  Whosoever  had 
joy  thereof,  no  joy  had  Aucassin.  And 
the  Count  Garin,  his  father,  had  taken  him 
out  of  prison,  and  had  sent  for  the  knights 
of  that  land,  and  the  ladies,  and  let  make 
a  right  great  feast,  for  the  comforting  of 
Aucassin  his  son.  Now  at  the  high  time 
of  the  feast,  was  Aucassin  leaning  from  a 
gallery,  all  woful  and  discomforted.  What- 
soever men  might  devise  of  mirth,  Aucassin 


31 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

had  no  joy  thereof,  nor  no  desire,  for  he 
saw  not  her  that  he  loved.  Then  a  knight 
looked  on  him,  and  came  to  him,  and  said  : 

"  Aucassin,  of  that  sickness  of  thine  have 
I  been  sick,  and  good  counsel  will  I  give 
thee,  if  thou  wilt  hearken  to  me  —  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Aucassin,  "  gramercy,  good 
counsel  would  I  fain  hear." 

"  Mount  thy  horse,"  quoth  he,  "  and  go 
take  thy  pastime  in  yonder  forest,  there  wilt 
thou  see  the  good  flowers  and  grass,  and 
hear  the  sweet  birds  sing.  Perchance  thou 
shalt  hear  some  word,  whereby  thou  shalt 
be  the  better." 

"Sir,"  quoth  Aucassin,  "gramercy,  that 
will  I  do." 

He  passed  out  of  the  hall,  and  went  down 
the  stairs,  and  came  to  the  stable  where  his 
horse  was.  He  let  saddle  and  bridle  him, 
and  mounted,  and  rode  forth  from  the  castle, 
and  wandered  till  he  came  to  the  forest,  so 
rode  till  he  came  to  the  fountain  and  found 
the  shepherds  at  point  of  noon.  And  they 
had  a  mantle  stretched  on  the  grass,  and 
were  eating  bread,  and  making  great  joy. 

Here  one  singeth  : 

There  were  gathered  shepherds  ally 
Martin,  Esmeric,  and  Hal, 
Auhrey,  Robin,  great  and  small. 


32 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

Saith  the  one,  "  Good  fellows  all, 
God  keep  Aucassin  the  fair, 
And  the  maid  with  jyellow  hair, 
Briffht  of  brow  and  ejfes  of  vair. 
She  that  gave  us  gold  to  ware. 
Cakes  therewith  to  hity  ye  know. 
Goodly  knives  and  sheaths  also. 
Flutes  to  play,  and  pipes  to  blow. 
May  God  him  heal  /" 

Here  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

When  Aucassin  heard  the  shepherds,  anon 
he  bethought  him  of  Nicolete,  his  sweet  lady 
he  loved  so  well,  and  he  deemed  that  she 
had  passed  thereby  ;  then  set  he  spurs  to  his 
horse,  and  so  came  to  the  shepherds. 

"  Fair  boys,  God  be  with  you." 

"  God  bless  you,"  quoth  he  that  had  more 
words  to  his  tongue  than  the  rest. 

"Fair  boys,"  quoth  Aucassin,  "say  the 
song  again  that  anon  ye  sang." 

**  Say  it  we  will  not,"  quoth  he  that  had 
more  words  to  his  tongue  than  the  rest, 
"foul  fall  him  who  will  sing  it  again  for  you, 
fair  sir  1  " 

"Fair  boys,"  quoth  Aucassin,  "know  ye 
me  not  ?  " 

"  Yea,  we  know  well  that  you  are  Aucassin , 


33 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

our  damoiseau,  nalheless  we  be  not  your 
men,  but  the  Count's." 

"  Fair  boys,  yet  sing  it  again,  I  pray  you." 

"Hearken!  by  the  Holy  Heart,"  quoth 
he,  "  wherefore  should  I  sing  for  you,  if  it 
likes  me  not }  Lo,  there  is  no  such  rich  man 
in  this  country,  saving  the  body  of  Garin 
the  Count,  that  dare  drive  forth  my  oxen, 
or  my  cows,  or  my  sheep,  if  he  finds  them  in 
his  fields,  or  his  corn,  lest  he  lose  his  eyes 
for  it,  and  wherefore  should  I  sing  for  you,  if 
it  likes  me  not?" 

"  God  be  your  aid,  fair  boys,  sing  it  ye  will, 
and  take  ye  these  ten  sols  I  have  here  in  a 
purse." 

"  Sir,  the  money  will  we  take,  but  never  a 
note  will  I  sing,  for  I  have  given  my  oath, 
but  I  will  tell  thee  a  plain  tale,  if  thou  wilt." 

"  By  God,"  saith  Aucassin,  *'  I  love  a  plain 
tale  better  than  naught." 

"  Sir,  we  were  in  this  place,  a  little  time 
agone,  between  prime  and  tierce,  and  were 
eating  our  bread  by  this  fountain,  even  as 
now  we  do,  and  a  maid  came  past,  the  fairest 
thing  in  the  world,  whereby  we  deemed  that 
she  should  be  a  fay,  and  all  the  wood  shone 
round  about  her.  Anon  she  gave  us  of  that 
she  had,  whereby  we  made  covenant  with 
her,  that  if  ye  came  hither  we  would  bid  you 
hunt  in  this  forest,  wherein  is  such  a  beast 


34 


AUCASSIN    &    NICOLETE 

that,  an  ye  might  take  him,  ye  would  not 
give  one  limb  of  him  for  five  hundred  marks 
of  silver,  nor  for  no  ransom  ;  for  this  beast 
is  so  mighty  of  medicine,  that,  an  ye  could 
take  him,  ye  should  be  healed  of  your  tor- 
ment, and  within  three  days  must  ye  take 
him,  and  if  ye  take  him  not  then,  never 
will  ye  look  on  him.  So  chase  ye  the  beast, 
an  ye  will,  or  an  ye  will  let  be,  for  my 
promise  have  I  kept  with  her." 

"Fair  boys,"  quoth  Aucassin,  "ye  have 
said  enough.  God  grant  me  to  find  this 
quarry." 


Here  one  singeth  : 

Aucassin  when  he  had  beard, 
Sore  within  his  heart  was  stirred^ 
Left  the  shepherds  on  that  word, 
Far  into  the  forest  spurred 
Rede  into  the  wood  ;  and  fleet 
Fled  his  horse  through  paths  of  it. 
Three  words  spake  he  of  his  sweet, 
"  Nicolete  the  fair,  the  dear, 
'  Tis  for  thee  I  follow  here 
Track  of  boar,  nor  slot  of  deer, 
"But  thy  sweet  body  and  eyes  so  clear, 
i/lll  thy  mirth  and  merry  cheer, 
That  my  very  heart  hath  slain, 


35 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

So  please  God  to  me  maintain 
I  shall  see  my  love  again, 

Sweet  sister,  friend!  " 

Then  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

Aucassin  fared  through  the  forest  from 
path  to  path  after  Nicolete,  and  his  horse 
bare  him  furiously.  Think  ye  not  that  the 
thorns  him  spared,  nor  the  briars,  nay,  not 
so,  but  tare  his  raiment,  that  scarce  a  knot 
might  be  tied  with  the  soundest  part  thereof, 
and  the  blood  sprang  from  his  arms,  and 
flanks,  and  legs,  in  forty  places,  or  thirty,  so 
that  behind  the  Childe  men  might  follow  on 
the  track  of  his  blood  in  the  grass.  But  so 
much  he  went  in  thoughts  of  Nicolete,  his 
lady  sweet,  that  he  felt  no  pain  nor  torment, 
and  all  the  day  hurled  through  the  forest  in 
this  fashion  nor  heard  no  word  of  her.  And 
when  he  saw  Vespers  draw  nigh,  he  began 
to  weep  for  that  he  found  her  not.  All 
down  an  old  road,  and  grassgrown  he  fared, 
when  anon  looking  along  the  way  before, 
him,  he  saw  such  an  one  as  I  shall  tell  you. 
Tall  was  he,  and  great  of  growth,  laidly  and 
mcirvellous  to  look  upon:  his  head  huge, 
and  black  as  charcoal,  and  more  than  the 
breadth  of  a  hand  between  his  two  eyes,  and 


Z^ 


AUCASSIN   &    NICOLETE 

great  cheeks,  and  a  big  nose  and  broad,  big 
nostrils  and  ugly,  and  thick  lips  redder  than 
a  collop,  and  great  teeth  yellow  and  ugly, 
and  he  was  shod  with  hosen  and  shoon  of 
bull's  hide,  bound  \nth  cords  of  bark  over 
the  knee,  and  all  about  him  a  great  cloak 
twy-fold,  and  he  leaned  on  a  grievous  cudgel, 
and  Aucassin  came  unto  him,  and  was  afraid 
when  he  beheld  him. 

"  Fair  brother,  God  aid  thee." 

"God  bless  you,"  quoth  he. 

"As  God  he  helpeth  thee,  what  makest 
thou  here?" 

"  What  is  that  to  thee  ?  " 

"Nay,  naught,  naught,"  saith  Aucassin, 
'•  I  ask  but  out  of  courtesy." 

"  But  for  whom  weepest  thou,"  quoth  he, 
"  and  makest  such  heavy  lament  ?  Certes, 
were  I  as  rich  a  man  as  thou,  the  whole 
world  should  not  make  me  weep." 

"  Ha,  know  ye  me  ?  "  saith  Aucassin. 

"  Yea,  I  know  well  that  ye  be  Aucassin, 
the  son  of  the  Count,  and  if  ye  tell  me  for 
why  ye  weep,  then  will  I  tell  you  what  I 
make  here." 

"  Certes,"  quoth  Aucassin,  "  I  will  tell  you 
right  gladly.  Hither  came  I  this  morning 
to  hunt  in  this  forest  ;  and  with  me  a  white 
hound,  the  fairest  in  the  world  ;  him  have  I 
lost,  and  for  him  I  weep." 


37 


AUCASSIN    &    NICOLETE 

"  By  the  Heart  our  Lord  bare  in  his 
breast,"  quoth  he,  "are  ye  weeping  for  a 
stinking  hound  ?  Foul  fall  him  that  holds 
thee  high  henceforth!  for  there  is  no  such 
rich  man  in  the  land,  but  if  thy  father  asked 
it  of  him,  he  would  give  thee  ten,  or  fifteen, 
or  twenty,  and  be  the  gladder  for  it.  But  / 
have  cause  to  weep  and  make  dole." 

"  Wherefore  so,  brother  ?" 

"  Sir,  I  will  tell  thee.  I  was  hireling  to  a 
rich  vilain,  and  drove  his  plough  ;  four  oxen 
had  he.  But  three  days  since  came  on  me 
great  misadventure,  whereby  I  lost  the  best 
of  mine  oxen,  Roger,  the  best  of  my  team. 
Him  go  I  seeking,  and  have  neither  eaten 
nor  drunken  these  three  days,  nor  may  I  go 
to  the  town,  lest  they  cast  me  into  prison, 
seeing  that  I  have  not  wherewithal  to  pay. 
Out  of  all  the  wealth  of  the  world  have  I 
no  more  than  ye  see  on  my  body.  A  poor 
mother  bare  me,  that  had  no  more  but  one 
wretched  bed;  this  have  they  taken  from 
under  her,  and  she  lies  in  the  very  straw. 
This  ails  me  more  than  mine  own  case,  for 
wealth  comes  and  goes;  if  now  I  have  lost, 
another  tide  will  I  gain,  and  will  pay  for  my 
mine  ox  whenas  I  may  ;  never  for  that  will  I 
weep.  But  you  weep  for  a  stinking  hound. 
Foul  fall  whoso  thinks  well  of  thee  !  " 

"  Certes  thou  art  a  good  comforter,  brother, 


38 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

blessed  be  thou  I  And  of  what  price  was 
thine  ox  ?" 

"  Sir,  they  ask  me  twenty  sols  for  him, 
whereof  I  cannot  abate  one  doit." 

"Nay,  then,"  quoth  Aucassin,  '*  take  these 
twenty  sols  I  have  in  my  purse,  and  pay  for 
thine  ox," 

**  Sir,"  saith  he,  "  gramercy.  And  God 
give  thee  to  find  that  thou  seekest." 

So  they  parted  each  from  other,  and 
Aucassin  rode  on:  the  night  was  fair  and 
still,  and  so  long  he  went  that  he  came 
to  the  lodge  of  boughs,  that  Nicolete  had 
builded  and  woven  within  and  without, 
over  and  under,  with  flowers,  and  it  was 
the  fairest  lodge  that  might  be  seen. 
When  Aucassin  was  ware  of  it,  he  stopped 
suddenly,  and  the  light  of  the  moon  fell 
therein. 

"  God  I  "  quoth  Aucassin,  **  here  was 
Nicolete,  my  sweet  lady,  and  this  lodge 
builded  she  with  her  fair  hands.  For  the 
sweetness  of  it,  and  for  love  of  her,  will  I 
alight,  and  rest  here  this  night  long." 

He  drew  forth  his  foot  from  the  stirrup 
to  alight,  and  the  steed  was  great  and  tall. 
He  dreamed  so  much  on  Nicolete  his  right 
sweet  lady,  that  he  slipped  on  a  stone,  and 
drave  his  shoulder  out  of  his  place.  Then 
knew  he  that  he  was  hurt  sore,  natheless 


39 


AUCASSIN    &    NICOLETE 

he  bore  him  with  what  force  he  might,  and 
fastened  with  the  other  hand  the  mare's 
son  to  a  thorn.  Then  turned  he  on  his 
side,  and  crept  backwise  into  the  lodge  of 
boughs.  And  he  looked  through  a  gap  in 
the  lodge  and  saw  the  stars  in  heaven,  and 
one  that  was  brighter  than  the  rest  ;  so 
began  he  to  say  : 

Here  one  singeth  : 

"  Star,  that  I  from  far  heboid, 
Star,  the  Moon  calls  to  her  fold, 
Ntcolete  with  thee  doth  dwell, 
zMjy  sweet  love  with  locks  of  gold, 
God  would  have  her  dwell  afar, 
Tywell  with  him  for  evening  star, 
Would  to  God,  whatever  befell. 
Would  that  with  her  I  might  dwell. 
I  would  clip  her  close  and  strait. 
Nay,  were  I  of  much  estate. 
Some  king's  son  desirable, 
Worthy  she  to  be  my  mate. 
Me  to  kiss  and  clip  me  well, 
Sister,  sweet  friend!  " 

So  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

When  Nicolete  heard  Aucassin,  right  so 

40 


AUCASSIN   &  NICOLETE 

came  she  unto  him,  for  she  was  not  far 
away.  She  passed  within  the  lodge,  and 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  clipped 
and  kissed  him. 

"  Fair  sweet  friend,  welcome  be  thou." 

"  And  thou,  fair  sweet  love,  be  thou 
welcome." 

So  either  kissed  and  clipped  the  other, 
and  fair  joy  was  them  between. 

"Ha!  sweet  love,"  quoth  Aucassin,  "but 
now  was  I  sore  hurt,  and  my  shoulder  wried, 
but  I  take  no  force  of  it,  nor  have  no  hurt 
therefrom  since  I  have  thee." 

Right  so  felt  she  his  shoulder  and  found 
it  was  wried  from  its  place.  And  she  so 
handled  it  with  her  white  hands,  and  so 
wrought  in  her  surgery,  that  by  God's  will 
who  loveth  lovers,  it  went  back  into  its 
place.  Then  took  she  flowers,  and  fresh 
grass,  and  leaves  green,  and  bound  these 
herbs  on  the  hurt  with  a  strip  of  her  smock, 
and  he  was  all  healed. 

"Aucassin,"  saith  she,  "fair  sweet  love, 
take  counsel  what  thou  wilt  do.  If  thy 
father  let  search  this  forest  to-morrow,  and 
men  find  me  here,  they  will  slay  me,  come 
to  thee  what  will." 

"  Certes,  fair  sweet  love,  therefore  should 
I  sorrow  heavily,  but,  an  if  I  may,  never 
shall  they  take  thee." 


41 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

Anon  gat  he  on  his  horse,  and  his  lady 
before  him,  kissing  and  clipping  her,  and  so 
rode  they  at  adventure. 

Here  one  singeth  : 

Aucassin  the  frank,  the  fair, 
Aucassin  of  the  yellow  hair, 
Geiitle  knight,  and  true  lover, 
From  the  forest  doth  he  fare, 
Holds  his  love  before  him  there. 
Kissing  cheek,  and  chin,  and  eyes, 
But  she  spake  in  sober  wise, 
"  Aucassin,  true  love  and  fair. 
To  what  land  do  we  repair  ?  " 
Sweet  my  love,  I  take  no  care, 
Thou  art  with  me  everywhere  ! 
So  they  pass  the  woods  and  downs, 
Pass  the  villages  and  towns, 
Hills  and  dales  and  open  land. 
Came  at  dawn  to  the  sea  sand. 
Lighted  down  upon  the  strand, 
'Beside  the  sea. 

Then  say  they,  speak  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

Aucassin  lighted  down  and  his  love,  as  ye 
have  heard  sing.  He  held  his  horse  by  the 
bridle,  and  his  lady  by  the  hands;  so  went 


42 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

they  along  the  sea  shore,  and  on  the  sea 
they  saw  a  ship,  and  he  called  unto  the 
sailors,  and  they  came  to  him.  Then  held 
he  such  speech  with  them,  that  he  and  his 
lady  were  brought  aboard  that  ship,  and 
when  they  were  on  the  high  sea,  behold  a 
mighty  wind  and  tyrannous  arose,  marvel- 
lous and  great,  and  drave  them  from  land  to 
land,  till  they  came  unto  a  strange  country, 
and  won  the  haven  of  the  castle  of  Torelore. 
Then  asked  they  what  this  land  might  be, 
and  men  told  them  that  it  was  the  country 
of  the  King  of  Torelore.  Then  he  asked 
what  manner  of  man  was  he,  and  was  there 
war  afoot,  and  men  said, 

"  Yea,  and  mighty  I  " 

Therewith  took  he  farewell  of  the  mer- 
chants, and  they  commended  him  to  God. 
Anon  Aucassin  mounted  his  horse,  with  his 
sword  girt,  and  his  lady  before  him,  and 
rode  at  adventure  till  he  was  come  to  the 
castle.  Then  asked  he  where  the  King  was, 
and  they  said  that  he  was  in  childbed. 

"  Then  where  is  his  wife  ?  " 

And  they  told  him  she  was  with  the  host, 
and  had  led  with  her  all  the  force  of  that 
country. 

Now  when  Aucassin  heard  that  saying,  he 
made  great  marvel,  and  came  into  the  castle, 
and  lighted  down,  he  and  his  lady,  and  his 


43 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

lady  held  his  horse.  Right  so  went  he  up 
into  the  castle,  with  his  sword  girt,  and 
fared  hither  and  thither  till  he  came  to  the 
chamber  where  the  King  was  lying. 

Here  one  singeth  : 

tÂucassin  the  courteous  knight 
To  the  chamber  went  forthright, 
To  the  bed  with  linen  digbt 
Even  where  the  King  was  laid. 
There  he  stood  by  him  and  said  : 
"  Fool,  what  mak'st  thou  here  abed?  " 
Quoth  the  King  :    "  /  am  brought  to  bed 
Of  a  fair  son,  and  anon 
IVhen  my  month  is  over  and  gone, 
And  my  healing  fairly  done. 
To  the  Minster  will  I  fare 
And  will  do  my  churching  there, 
As  my  father  did  repair. 
Then  will  sally  forth  to  war. 
Then  will  drive  my  foes  afar 
From  my  countrie !" 


Then  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

When  Aucassin  heard  the  King  speak  on 
this  wise,  he  took  all  the  sheets  that  covered 


44 


AUCASSIN    &    NICOLETE 

him,  and  threw  them  all  abroad  about  the 
chamber.  Then  saw  he  behind  him  a  cudgel, 
and  caught  it  into  his  hand,  and  turned,  and 
took  the  King,  and  beat  him  till  he  was  well- 
nigh  dead. 

"Ha!  fair  sir,"  quoth  the  King,  "what 
would  you  with  me  ?  Art  thou  beside 
thyself,  that  beatest  me  in  mine  own 
house  ?  " 

"  By  God's  heart,"  quoth  Aucassin,  "  thou 
ill  son  of  an  ill  wench,  I  will  slay  thee  if 
thou  swear  not  that  never  shall  any  man 
in  all  thy  land  lie  in  of  child  henceforth  for 
ever." 

So  he  did  that  oath,  and  when  he  had 
done  it, 

"  Sir,"  said  Aucassin,  "  bring  me  now  where 
thy  wife  is  with  the  host." 

"  Sir,  with  good  will,"  quoth  the  King. 

lie  mounted  his  horse,  and  Aucassin 
gat  on  his  own,  and  Nicolete  abode  in  the 
Queen's  chamber.  Anon  rode  Aucassin 
and  the  King  even  till  they  came  to  that 
place  where  the  Queen  was,  and  lo  !  men 
were  warring  with  baked  apples,  and  with 
eggs,  and  with  fresh  cheeses,  and  Aucassin 
began  to  look  on  them,  and  made  great 
marvel. 

Here  one  singeth  : 
45 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

Aucassin  its  horse  dotb  stay, 
From  the  saddle  watched  the  fray, 
All  the  stour  and  fierce  arrajy  ; 
Right  fresh  cheeses  carried  they, 
Apples  baked,  and  mushrooms  grey, 
IVhoso  splasheth  most  the  ford 
He  is  master  called  and  lord. 
Aucassin  doth  ga^e  awhile, 
Then  began  to  laugh  and  smile 
And  made  game. 

Then  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

When  Aucassin  beheld  these  marvels,  he 
came  to  the  King,  and  said,  "  Sir,  be  these 
thine  enemies  ?  " 

"  Yea,  Sir,"  quoth  the  King. 

"And  will  ye  that  I  should  avenge  you  of 
them?" 

**  Yea,"  quoth  he,  "  with  all  my  heart." 

Then  Aucassin  put  hand  to  sword,  and 
hurled  among  them,  and  began  to  smite  to 
the  right  hand  and  the  left,  and  slew  many 
of  them.  And  when  the  King  saw  that  he 
slew  them,  he  caught  at  his  bridle  and  said, 

"  Ha  !  fair  sir,  slay  them  not  in  such 
wise." 

"  How,"  quoth  Aucassin,  "  will  ye  not  that 
T  should  avenge  you  of  them  ?  " 


46 


I 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

"  Sir,"  quoth  the  King,  "  overmuch  already 
hast  thou  avenged  me.  It  is  nowise  our 
custom  to  slay  each  other." 

Anon  turned  they  and  fled.  Then  the 
King  and  Aucassin  betook  them  again  to 
the  castle  of  Torelore,  and  the  folk  of  that 
land  counselled  the  King  to  put  Aucassin 
forth,  and  keep  Nicolete  for  his  son's  wife, 
for  that  she  seemed  a  lady  high  of  lineage. 
And  Nicolete  heard  them,  and  had  no  joy  of 
it,  so  began  to  say  : 

Here  singeth  one  : 

Thus  she  spake  the  bright  of  brow  : 
"  Lord  of  Torelore  and  king. 
Thy  folk  deem  me  a  light  thing, 
When  my  love  doth  me  embrace, 
Fair  he  finds  me,  in  good  case, 
Then  am  I  in  such  derray, 
U^eitber  harp,  nor  lyre,  nor  lay, 
Dance  nor  game,  nor  rebeck  play 
Were  so  sweets 

Then  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

Aucassin  dwelt  in  the  castle  of  Torelore, 
in  great  ease  and  great  delight,  for  that  he 
had  with  him  Nicolete  his  sweet  love,  whom 


47 


AUCASSIN   &    NICOLETE 

he  loved  so  well.  Now  while  he  was  in  such 
pleasure  and  such  delight,  came  a  troop  of 
Saracens  by  sea,  and  laid  siege  to  the  castle 
and  took  it  by  main  strength.  Anon  took 
they  the  substance  that  was  therein  and 
carried  off  the  men  and  maidens  captives. 
They  seized  Nicolete  and  Aucassin,  and 
bound  Aucassin  hand  and  foot,  and  cast  him 
into  one  ship,  and  Nicolete  into  another. 
Then  rose  there  a  mighty  wind  over  sea, 
and  scattered  the  ships.  Now  that  ship 
wherein  was  Aucassin,  went  wandering  on 
the  sea,  till  it  came  to  the  castle  of  Biaucaire, 
and  the  folk  of  the  country  ran  together  to 
wreck  her,  and  there  found  they  Aucassin, 
and  they  knew  him  again.  So  when  they  of 
Biaucaire  saw  their  damoiseau,  they  made 
great  joy  of  him,  for  Aucassin  had  dwelt 
full  three  years  in  the  castle  of  Torelore,  and 
his  father  and  mother  were  dead.  So  the 
people  took  him  to  the  castle  of  Biaucaire, 
and  there  were  they  all  his  men.  And  he 
held  the  land  in  peace. 

Here  singeth  one  : 

Lo  ye,  Attcassni  hath  gone 
To  Biaucaire  that  is  his  own, 
Dwelleth  there  in  joy  and  ease 
And  the  kingdom  is  at  peace. 


48 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

Swears  he  by  the  Majesty 
Of  our  Lord  that  is  most  high, 
Rather  would  he  they  should  die 
All  his  kin  and  parentrv, 
So  that  Nicolete  were  nigh. 

"  Ah  sweet  love,  and  fair  of  brow, 
I  know  not  where  to  seek  thee  now, 
God  made  never  that  countrie. 
Not  by  land,  and  not  by  sea. 
Where  I  would  not  search  for  thee. 
If  that  might  be  r' 

Then  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

Now  leave  we  Aucassin,  and  speak  we  of 
Nicolete.  The  ship  wherein  she  was  cast 
pertained  to  the  King  of  Carthage,  and  he 
was  her  father,  and  she  liad  twelve  brothers, 
all  princes  or  kings.  When  they  beheld 
Nicolete,  how  fair  she  was,  they  did  her 
great  worship,  and  made  much  joy  of  her, 
and  many  times  asked  her  who  she  was,  for 
surely  seemed  she  a  lady  of  noble  line  and 
high  parentry.  But  she  might  not  tell  them 
of  her  lineage,  for  she  was  but  a  child  when 
men  stole  her  away.  So  sailed  they  till 
they  won  the  City  of  Carthage,  and  when 
Nicolete  saw  the  walls  of  the  castle,  and  the 


49 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

country-side,  she  knew  that  there  had  she 
been  nourished  and  thence  stolen  away, 
being  but  a  child.  Yet  was  she  not  so 
young  a  child  but  that  well  she  knew  she 
had  been  daughter  of  the  King  of  Carthage; 
and  of  her  nurture  in  that  city. 

Here  singeth  one  : 

Nicoleie  the  good  and  true 
To  the  land  hath  come  anew. 
Sees  the  palaces  and  walls, 
(And  the  houses  and  the  halls  ! 
Then  she  spake  and  said,  "  Alas  ! 
That  of  birth  so  great  I  was, 
Cousin  of  the  Amiral 
lÂnd  the  verjy  child  of  him 
Carthage  counts  King  of  Pqynim, 
IVild  folk  hold  me  here  withal  ; 
Nay  Aucassin,  love  of  thee 
Gentle  knight,  and  true,  and  free. 
Burns  and  wastes  the  heart  of  me. 
tÂh  God  grant  it  of  his  grace, 
That  thou  hold  me,  and  embrace. 
That  thou  kiss  me  on  the  face 
Love  and  lord!  ^^ 

Then  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they 
the  Tale  : 

When  the  King  of  Carthage  heard  Nicolete 

50 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

speak  in  this  wise,  he  cast  his  arms  about 
her  neck. 

"  Fair  sweet  love,"  saith  he,  "  tell  me  who 
thou  art,  and  be  not  adread  of  me." 

"Sir,"  said  she,  "I  am  daughter  to  the 
King  of  Carthage,  and  was  taken,  being 
then  a  little  child,  it  is  now  fifteen  years 
gone." 

When  all  they  of  the  court  heard  her 
speak  thus,  they  knew  well  that  she  spake 
sooth  :  so  made  they  great  joy  of  her,  and 
led  her  to  the  castle  in  great  honour,  as 
the  King's  daughter.  And  they  would  have 
given  her  to  her  lord  a  King  of  Paynim,  but 
she  had  no  mind  to  marry.  There  dwelt  she 
three  days  or  four.  And  she  considered  by 
what  means  she  might  se^k  for  Aucassin. 
Then  she  got  her  a  viol,  and  learned  to  play 
on  it,  till  they  would  have  married  her  on  a 
day  to  a  great  King  of  Paynim,  and  she 
stole  forth  by  night,  and  came  to  the  sea- 
port, and  dwelt  with  a  poor  woman  thereby. 
Then  took  she  a  certain  herb,  and  therewith 
smeared  her  head  and  her  face,  till  she  was 
all  brown  and  stained.  And  she  let  make 
coat,  and  mantle,  and  smock,  and  hose,  and 
attired  herself  as  if  she  had  been  a  harper. 
So  took  she  the  viol  and  went  to  a  mariner, 
and  so  wrought  on  him  that  he  took  her 
aboard  his  vessel.     Then  hoisted  they  sail, 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

and  fared  on  the  high  seas  even  till  they 
came  to  the  land  of  Provence.  And  Nico- 
lete  went  forth  and  took  the  viol,  and  went 
playing  through  all  that  country,  even  till 
she  came  to  the  castle  of  Biaucaire,  where 
Aucassin  lay. 

Here  singeth  one  : 

iÂt  biaucaire  below  the  tower 

Sat  Aucassin,  on  an  hour, 

Heard  the  bird,  and  watched  the  floicer, 

IVith  his  barons  him  beside, 

Then  came  on  him  in  that  tide, 

The  sweet  influence  of  love 

And  the  memory  thereof  ; 

Thought  of  Nicolete  the  fair, 

(And  the  dainty  face  of  her 

He  had  loved  so  many  years, 

Then  was  he  in  dule  and  tears  ! 

Even  then  came  Nicolete 

On  the  stair  a  foot  she  set, 

tAnd  she  drew  the  viol  bow 

Through  the  strings  and  chanted  so  ; 

"  Listen,  lords  and  knights,  to  me. 

Lords  of  high  or  low  degree, 

To  my  story  list  will  ye 

All  of  Aucassin  and  her 

That  was  Nicolete  the  fair  ? 

tÂnd  their  love  was  long  to  tell 

Deep  woods  through  he  sought  her  well, 


52 


AUCASSIN   &   NICOLETE 

Paynims  took  them  on  a  day 
In  Torelore  and  hound  they  lay. 
Of  Aucassin  nought  know  we^ 
But  fair  Nicoleie  the  free 
t?(pw  in  Carthage  doth  she  dwell. 
There  her  father  loves  her  welly 
JVho  is  king  of  that  countrie. 
Her  a  husband  hath  be  found, 
Taynim  lord  that  serves  Mahound! 
Ne'er  with  him  the  maid  will  go, 
For  she  loves  a  damoiseau, 
Aucassin,  that  ye  may  know. 
Swears  to  God  that  never  mo 
IVith  a  lover  will  she  go 
Save  with  him  she  loveth  so 
In  long  desire.^' 

So  speak  they,  say  they,  tell  they  the  Tale  : 

When  Aucassin  heard  Nicolete  speak  in 
this  wise,  he  was  right  joyful,  and  drew  her 
on  one  side,  and  spoke,  saying  : 

"  Sweet  fair  friend,  know  ye  nothing  of 
this  Nicolete,  of  whom  ye  have  thus  sung  ?  " 

"  Yea,  Sir,  I  know  her  for  the  noblest 
creature,  and  the  most  gentle,  and  the  best 
that  ever  was  born  on  ground.  She  is 
daughter  to  the  King  of  Carthage  that  took 
her  there  where  Aucassin  was  taken,  and 
brought  her  into  the  city  of  Carthage,  till  he 


53 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLKTE 

knew  that  verily  she  was  his  own  daughter, 
whereon  he  made  right  great  mirth.  Anon 
wished  he  to  give  her  for  her  lord  one  of  the 
greatest  kings  of  all  Spain,  but  she  would 
rather  let  herself  be  hanged  or  burned,  than 
take  any  lord,  how  great  soever." 

*'Ha!  fair  sweet  friend,"  quoth  the  Count 
Aucassin,  "if  thou  wilt  go  into  that  land 
again,  and  bid  her  come  and  speak  to  me,  I 
will  give  thee  of  my  substance,  more  than 
thou  wouldst  dare  to  ask  or  take.  And 
know  ye,  that  for  the  sake  of  her,  I  have 
no  will  to  take  a  wife,  howsoever  high  her 
lineage.  So  wait  I  for  her,  and  never  will 
I  have  a  wife,  but  her  only.  And  if  I  knew 
where  to  find  her,  no  need  would  I  have  to 
seek  her." 

"  Sir,"  quoth  she,  "  if  ye  promise  me  that, 
I  will  go  in  quest  of  her  for  your  sake,  and 
for  hers,  that  I  love  much." 

So  he  sware  to  her,  and  anon  let  give  her 
twenty  livres,  and  she  departed  from  him, 
and  he  wept  for  the  sweetness  of  Nicolete. 
And  when  she  saw  him  weeping,  she  said  : 

"  Sir,  trouble  not  thyself  so  much  withal. 
For  in  a  little  while  shall  I  have  brought  her 
into  this  city,  and  ye  shall  see  her." 

When  Aucassin  heard  that,  he  was  right 
glad  thereof.  And  she  departed  from  him, 
and  went  into  the  city  to  the  house  of  the 


54 


AUCASSIN    &   NICOLETE 

Captain's  wife,  for  the  Captain  her  father  in 
God  was  dead.  So  she  dwelt  there,  and 
told  all  her  tale;  and  the  Captain's  wife 
knew  her,  and  knew  well  that  she  was 
Nicolete  that  herself  had  nourished.  Then 
she  let  wash  and  bathe  her,  and  there 
rested  she  eight  full  days.  Then  took  she 
an  herb  that  was  named  Eyehright  and 
anointed  herself  therewith,  and  was  as  fair 
as  ever  she  had  been  all  the  days  of  her  life- 
Then  she  clothed  herself  in  rich  robes  of 
silk  whereof  the  lady  had  great  store,  and 
then  sat  herself  in  the  chamber  on  a  silken 
coverlet,  and  called  the  lady  and  bade  her  go 
and  bring  Aucassin  her  love,  and  she  did 
even  so.  And  when  she  came  to  the  Palace 
she  found  Aucassin  weeping,  and  making 
lament  for  Nicolete  his  love,  for  that  she 
delayed  so  long.  And  the  lady  spake  unto 
him  and  said  : 

•'Aucassin,  sorrow  no  more,  but  come 
thou  on  with  me,  and  I  will  shew  thee  the 
thing  in  the  world  that  thou  lovest  best  ; 
even  Nicolete  thy  dear  love,  who  from  far 
lands  hath  come  to  seek  of  thee."  And 
Aucassin  was  right  glad. 

Here  singeth  one  : 

IVhen  Aucassin  heareth  now 
That  bts  lady  bright  of  brow 


55 


AUCASSIN    &    NICOLETE 


Dwelleth  in  his  own  countrie, 
Never  man  was  glad  as  he. 
To  her  castle  doth  he  hie 
IVith  the  ladj>  speedily, 
Passeth  to  the  chamber  high, 
Findeth  Nicolete  thereby. 
Of  her  true  love  found  again 
Never  maid  was  half  so  fain. 
Straight  she  leaped  upon  her  feet  : 
IVhen  his  love  he  saw  at  last. 
Arms  about  her  did  he  cast, 
Kissed  her  often,  kissed  her  sweet 
Kissed  her  lips  and  brows  and  eyes. 
Thus  all  night  do  thev  devise. 
Even  till  the  morning  white. 
Then  Âiicassin  wedded  her. 
Made  her  Lady  of  Biaucaire. 
Many  years  abode  they  there, 
Many  years  in  shade  or  sun, 
In  great  gladness  and  delight. 
Ne'er  hath  Aucassin  regret 
Nor  his  lady  Nicolete. 
Now  my  story  all  is  done, 
Said  and  sung  ! 


NOTES 


NOTES 


p.  xi.  "  The  blending  "  —  of  alternate  prose  and  verse 
—  "is  not  unknown  in  various  countries."'  Thus  in  Dr. 
Steere's  Swahili  Talts  (London,  1870),  p.  vii,  we  read: 
"  It  is  a  constant  characteristic  of  popular  native  tales 
to  have  a  sort  of  burden,  which  all  join  in  singing. 
Frequently  the  skeleton  of  the  story  seems  to  be 
contained  in  these  snatches  of  singing,  which  the 
story-teller  connects  by  an  extemporized  account  of 
the  intervening  history  .  .  .  Almost  all  these 
stories  had  sung  parts,  and  of  some  of  these,  even 
those  who  sung  them  could  scarcely  explain  the 
meaning  ...  I  have  heard  stories  partly  told,  in 
which  the  verse  parts  were  in  the  Yao  and  Nyamwezi 
languages."  The  examples  given  {Sultan  Maj'nun)  are 
only  verses  supposed  to  be  chanted  by  the  characters 
in  the  tale.  It  is  improbable  that  the  Yaos  and 
Nyamwezis  borrowed  the  custom  of  inserting  verse 
into  prose  tales  from  Arab  literature,  where  the  inter- 
calated verse  is  usually  of  a  moral  and  reflective 
character. 

Mr.  Jamieson,  in  Illustrations  of  Northern  Antiquities 
(p.  379),  preserved  a  cante-fable  called  Rosmer  Half  man, 
or  7he  Merman  Rosmer.  Mr.  Motherwell  remarks 
{Minstrelsy,  Glasgow,  1827,  p.  xv)  :  "  Thus  I  have  heard 
the  ancient  ballad  of  Young  Beichan  and  Susy  Pye 
dilated  by  a  Story-teller  into  a  tale  of  very  remark- 
able dimensions  —  a  paragraph  of  prose  and  then  a 
screed  of  rhyme  alternately  given."  The  example 
published  by  Mr.  Motherwell  gives  us  the  very  form 


59 


NOTES 

of  tAucassin  and  Nicolete,   surviving  in  Scotch  folk 
lore  :  — 

"  Well  ye  must  know  that  in  the  Moore's  Castle,  there 
was  a  mafsymore,  which  is  a  dark  deep  dungeon  for 
keeping  prisoners.  It  was  twenty  feet  below  the 
ground,  and  into  this  hole  they  closed  poor  Beichan. 
There  he  stood,  night  and  day,  up  to  his  waist  in 
puddle-water  ;  but  night  or  day  it  was  all  one  to  him, 
for  no  ae  styme  of  light  ever  got  in.  So  he  lay  there  a 
lang  and  weary  while,  and  thinking  on  his  heavy  weird, 
he  made  a  murnfu'  sang  to  pass  the  time  —  and  this 
was  the  sang  that  he  made,  and  grat  when  he  sang  it, 
for  he  never  thought  of  escaping  from  the  mafsymore, 
or  of  seeing  his  ain  countrie  again  : 

"'My  hounds  they  all  run  masterless. 
My  hawks  they  flee  from  tree  to  tree  ; 
My  youngest  brother  will  heir  my  lands, 
And  fair  England  again  I'll  never  see. 

"  '  Oh  were  I  free  as  I  hae  been, 

And  my  ship  swimming  once  more  on  sea, 

I'd  turn  my  face  to  fair  England, 

And  sail  no  more  to  a  strange  countrie.' 

''  Now  the  cruel  Moor  had  a  beautiful  daughter, 
called  Susy  Pye,  who  was  accustomed  to  take  a  walk 
every  morning  in  her  garden,  and  as  she  was  walking 
ae  day  she  heard  the  sough  o'  Beichan's  sang,  coming 
as  it  were  from  below  the  ground." 

All  this  is  clearly  analogous  in  form  no  less  than  in 
matter  to  our  cante-fable.  Mr.  Motherwell  speaks  of 
fabliaux,  intended  partly  for  recitation,  and  partly  for 
being  sung;  but  does  not  refer  by  name  tc  Aucassin 
and  Nicolete.  If  we  may  judge  by  analogy,  then,  the 
form  of  the  cante-fable  is  probably  an  early  artistic 
adaptation  of  a  popular  narrative  method. 


Go 


p.  5,  line  9.  Stour  :  an  ungainly  word  enough, 
familiar  in  Scotch  with  the  sense  of  wind-driven  dust, 
it  may  be  dust  of  battle.    The  French  is  Estor. 

P.  6,  line  7.  Biaucaire,  opposite  Tarascon,  also 
celebrated  for  its  local  hero,  the  deathless  Tartarin. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  learning  about  Biaucaire  ; 
probably  the  author  of  the  cante-fabU  never  saw  the 
place,  but  he  need  not  have  thought  it  was  on  the  sea- 
shore, as  (p,  48)  he  seems  to  do.  There  he  makes  the 
people  of  Biaucaire  set  out  to  wreck  a  ship.  Ships 
do  not  go  up  the  Rhone,  and  get  wrecked  there,  after 
escaping  the  perils  of  the  deep. 

On  p.  52,  the  poet  clearly  thinks  that  Nicolete,  after 
landing  from  her  barque,  had  to  travel  a  considerable 
distance  before  reaching  Biaucaire.  The  fact  is  that 
the  poet  is  perfectly  reckless  of  geography,  like  him 
who  wrote  of  the  sea-shore  of  Bohemia. 

P.  8,  line  16.  painted  wondrously.  No  one  knows 
what  is  really  meant  by  à  miramie. 

P.  10,  line  17.  Plentiful  lack  of  comfort  :  rather 
freely  for  Mout  i  aria  peu  conquis. 

P.  17,  line  6.  malengin:  a  favourite  word  of  Sir 
Thomas  Malory  :  "  mischievous  intent." 

Line  9.  Feats  of  youth  :  enfances,  the  regular  term 
for  the  romance  of  a  knight's  early  prowess. 

P.  22,  line  4.  Two  apples  ;  nois  gauges  in  the 
original.     But  walnuts  sound  inadequate. 

P.  40,  line  16.     Here  the  MS.  has  a  lacuna. 

P.  43,  line  10.  There  is  much  useless  learning  about 
the  realm  of  Torelore.  It  is  somewhere  between  Kor 
and  Laputa.  The  custom  of  the  Couvade  was  dimly 
known  to  the  poet.  The  feigned  lying-in  of  the  father 
may  have  been  either  a  recognition  of  paternity  (as  in 
the  sham  birth  whereby  Hera  adopted  Heracles)  or 
may  have  been  caused  by  the  belief  tliat  the  health 


61 


of  the  father  at  the  time  of  a  child's  birth  affected 
that  of  the  child.  Either  origin  of  the  Couvade  is 
consistent  with  early  beliefs  and  customs, 

P.  55,  line  8.    Eyebrigbt.    This  is  a  purely  fanciful 
rendering  of  Esdaire. 


APPENDIX 


The  Old  World  edition 
of  tAucassin  and  (J^icoUte 
would  be  incomplete  with- 
out Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman's 
finely  wrought  translation 
of  the  best  knowTi  passage 
in  this  antique  story.  It 
originally  appeared  in  tA 
Masque  of  Poets,  (Boston, 
1878)  and  has  never  been 
included  in  his  collected 
works. 


PROVENÇAL    LOVERS 

(AUCASSIN    AND    NICOLETTF.) 

WITHIN  the  garden  of  Biaucaire 
He  met  her  by  a  secret  stair,  — 
The  night  was  centuries  ago. 
Said  Âucassin,  "  My  love,  my  pet, 
These  old  confessors  vex  me  so  ! 
They  threaten  all  the  pains  of  bell 
Unless  I  give  you  up,  ma  belle  "  — 
Said  Âucassin  to  Nicolette. 

"  V^ow,  who  should  there  in  heaven  be 
To  fill  your  place,  ma  tres-douce  mie  ? 
To  reach  that  spot  I  little  care  ! 
There  all  the  droning  priests  are  met  ;  — 
(All  the  old  cripples,  too,  are  there 
That  unto  shrines  and  altars  cling 
To  filch  the  Peter-pence  we  bring;  "  — 
Said  Âucassin  to  Nicolette. 

"  There  are  the  barefoot  monks  and  friars 
IVith  gowns  well-tattered  by  the  briars. 
The  saints  who  lift  their  eyes  and  whine  : 
J  like  them  not  —  a  starveling  set  ! 
IVho'd  care  with  folk  like  these  to  dine  ? 
The  other  road  *twere  just  as  well 
That  you  and  I  should  take,  ma  belle  !  " 
Said  Âucassin  to  Nicolette. 


65 


PROVENÇAL  LOVERS 

"  To  Purgatory  I  would  go 
IVitb  pleasant  comrades  whom  we  know, 
Fair  scholars,  minstrels,  lusty  knights 
JVhose  deeds  the  land  will  not  forget, 
The  captains  of  a  hundred  fights, 
The  men  of  valor  and  degree  : 
IVe'll  join  that  gallant  company, ^^  — 
Said  Aucassin  to  Nicolette. 

"  There,  too,  are  jousts  and  joyance  rare. 
And  beauteous  ladies  dehonaire, 
The  pretty  dames,  the  merry  brides, 
IVho  with  their  wedded  lords  coquette 
And  have  a  friend  or  two  besides,  — 
And  all  in  gold  and  trappings  gay, 
With  furs,  and  crests  in  vair  and  gray,^'  — 
Said  Aucassin  to  Nicolette. 

"  Sweet  players  on  the  cithern  strings. 
And  they  who  roam  the  world  like  kings 
Are  gathered  there,  so  blithe  and  free  ! 
Tardie  !    I'd  join  them  now,  my  pet, 
If  you  went  also,  ma  douce  mie  ! 
The  joys  of  heaven  Vd  forego 
To  have  you  with  me  there  below,''  — 
Said  Aucassin  to  Nicolette. 

EDMUND   CLARENCE   STEDMAN. 


ThtJS  comes  to  an  end  the 
Song-Story  of  Aucassin  & 
Nicoletc  done  into  English 
by  Andrew  Lang.^^^Print- 
ed  by  Smith  &  Sale  for 
Thomas  B.  Mosher,  and 
published  by  him  at  XLV 
Exchange  Street,  Portland, 
Maine,  MDCCCa.-»^  -^ 


